


Party Animals

by momolady



Series: Party Animals [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dancers, Drug Use, F/M, Love, Modern AU, Romantic Fluff, Slow Burn, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momolady/pseuds/momolady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is a gogo dancer, specifically a cage dancer, at the Dog House, a popular night club owned by Gregor Clegane. She is more than happy to fill her nights with dancing, being admired by the patrons below. A gilded bird far above the populace. She is always taken care of by the bouncer, Sandor Clegane, so she fears nothing in the night. But everything changes once the new DJ Joffrey Baratheon, comes to the club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sansa, the Cage Dancer

**Author's Note:**

> Written by: amaresempra.tumblr.com & momolady.tumblr.com

Chapter One:

She felt the pulse of the city. Steam heat rising from the dirty dance floor, her cage a neon testament to the night life. Sansa Stark was made to dance, and that she did. In a café, 30 feet above a neon field of sweaty, horny people-all of them alive and thriving with the booming bass. She felt the blood throb in her ears to the beat, the sweat sheening her exposed back and stomach.

With all eyes on her, Sansa felt more alive, more powerful. In fact, she felt in control. With each move of her body she controlled the room, demanded the throbbing masses with her beauty, her beast. She was a she-wolf in a cage, and everyone knew it.

The music died down, a quieter beat replaced it. Sansa turned, watching as the great, glowing screen towards of the back flashed to the face of Tyrion Lannister and the logo for his radio show. As the little man began to talk, her cage was lowered down, her break. She both hated and loved the moment her cage hit the ground. She was free, but still attached to the dance, to the beat. And that attachment made her body ached to return to the pulsing masses.

“This way,” the gruff bouncer told her over the roar of the crowd.

It was always the same bouncer, his arm held out across her back, never touching, as he led her through the crowd. She enjoyed this walk backstage, those who worshipped her from below now able to see their caged goddess up close. The faces of longing, jealousy, lust. She loved each and every face, because they all wanted her.  
Backstage she felt a sort of calm take her over, she was normal Sansa here. Sansa from the outside world. The bouncer looked around the room, scanning for any trouble. He then nodded to Sansa.

“Do you need anything?”

Sansa always answered, “no. I’m fine. I’ll just drink water.” 

The bouncer nodded, closing the door.

Sansa sighed, fanning her red cheeks. She looked around the dressing room, most of the dancers she didn’t really like were hanging around. She thought for sure Margarey was on break now, but maybe she was mistaken.

She went to the fridge in the back, mostly only filled with bottled water. She listened to Tyrion go on outside, announcing the new DJ who was taking the stage or something, maybe another radio promotional giveaway. Sansa didn’t really care, she was one of the few dancers who didn’t pay much attention to Tyrion, despite what Gregor had commanded them to do. Sansa just didn’t find Tyrion desireable, money or otherwise. Sure, he was a Lannister, and catching the eye of a Lannister meant something. Fame, money, a life she’d never be able to dream about. But she didn’t want it if it meant dealing with the Imp of Radio.

Really, Sansa told herself, all I need is the Dog House. She smiled tranquilly to herself as she sat down, putting the cold bottle of water to her lips.  
The door opened again, the bouncer leading in a young blonde. Sansa’s eyes perked up, seeing this lovely creature come into the room. He was handsome, lovely blue eyes surrounded by dark lashes.

The bouncer asked him the same question he always asked Sansa, and the young man ordered a drink. He mumbled something as the door closed and her removed his hat, golden froth of hair spilling forth. Oh yes, Sansa blushed, he is very lovely.

The door opened again, Tyrion waddling in, his body guard slamming the door behind him.

“You’re supposed to be on stage,” Tyrion sniffed at the boy.

Sansa stayed where she was, hidden by a wall of hanging outfits.

“I can’t having a fucking drink?” The boy scoffed.

“I got you this job,” Tyrion continued. “I did it for my sister, your mother. I don’t want my name ruined here because of you.”

Tyrion’s nephew? Sansa thought, watching more intently. 

“Give me a break, half man.” He huffed.

A Lannister! Sansa continued in her head. That must mean he’s Joffery, Cersei’s son, she figured the math in her head.

The door opened and Tyrion’s bodyguard came in, handing Joffery his drink before disappearing back outside, giving Tyrion a tired, laughing look.

“You had better keep up your promise, boy.” Tyrion scoffed before shuffling on out behind his bodyguard.

Joffery cursed after his uncle as the door closed, turning back and downing his drink.

Sansa stood, moving purposefully and casually shuffling through the clothes on the rack. A hand suddenly parted the great wall of clothes, and she came face to face with Joffery. His mask of anger melted away, eyes darting over her, her body. A pleased smile parted his face, and Sansa matched it in turn.

“Hi,” Sansa whispered.

“Hello,” Joffery leaned against the rack. “You’re a dancer here?”

Sansa nodded, still idly shuffling through the clothes.

Joffery’s eyes continued darting across her body. “What sort of dancer?”

Sansa chuckled. “I dance in one of the cages, mostly.”

“What’s your name?” Joffery asked.

Sansa felt the blush rise from her cheeks to the tips of her ears, that smile he had, knowing and crooked. “Sansa.” Her voice breathy.

He nodded, putting his cap back on, bearing a clawing lion. “Nice to meet you, Sansa. Maybe I’ll see you dancing later.”

Lighter than air, floating in warm cream. “I hope so.”

Joffery hands her his drink and for a brief, head-rushing moment, their fingers touch. Thunderbolts, Sansa felt them, painfully wonderful. His smile as he left spoke volumes, and as the glass touched her lips she imagined how his felt.

“Ready to go, Sansa?” The voice came out of nowhere, and she paid it no mind as she finished off the rest of the drink, imagining the golden haired beauty.  
Her vision quickly shifted back to the bouncer, a harsh comparison. A shock of cold water in a searing hot moment. She smiled politely at the gruff man, allowing him to lead her to her cage.

“Yeah,” she let out a lusty breath. She looked up at the bouncer then set the glass down.

Sansa followed behind the bouncer, normal Sansa being left backstage. The wolf was coming back, the animal that lived for the pulse of the music, the vibrations of the bass, the rushing blood of the people below.

Her cage was lowered down, touching the floor. She stepped inside, eager to dance to Joffery’s music, feel his beat all over her skin, bring it all alive with her body. She glanced behind her, seeing the bouncer close the cage. For a moment their eyes meet, and involuntarily she smiles at him.

“Have fun, little bird.”

Sansa nods. “Thank you.” And then she was back in the air, high above the world, above everything, care and regrets. Once again, she was the goddess of the neon glow, and she let the music come into her body, enter every pore, and take her over like a spirit. Only this time, it was Joffery’s spirit who entered her, making her move, controlling her.  
She watched him on his pedestal, controlling the pulsing mass of people with his music. The lights, making him glow, making him a god like she was. He was a lion, a king, a true ruler of the crowd. She knew she didn’t stand a chance against him, and she didn’t want to. So, in the moment when Joffery’s eyes slid up, scanning each of the cages, and his eyes found her, she might as very well of been in heaven.

She danced, blind to everything that was going on, ignoring her worshippers entirely, and turning all of her energy onto the king at the front of the room. It came as a shock to her when the night ended. Joffery left the stage, Tyrion taking his place. Sansa became panicked for a moment. What would she do? How would she get to Joffery before the other dancers did? God forbid he left before she got to speak to him one last time, give him her number.

Her cage door opened and she looked up at the bouncer, moving quickly, nearly running towards backstage.

“What’s the rush?” The bouncer asked.

Sansa let herself slip for a moment. “Joffery hasn’t left yet, as he?”

The bouncer laughed, somewhat amused. “They are still loading his equipment.”

“Then I haven’t missed him.” Sansa’s smile was bright, full. Her excitement so powerful, she didn’t notice the rogue that came to the bouncer’s face, didn’t realize the power her smile had.

Sansa rushed through backstage, changing in such a mad hurry she didn’t pay any attention to the other dancers around, forgetting her keys. She went out through the backdoor, into the ally where the staff entered. She turned her head left and right, hoping to catch a glance of Joffery, hoping he might catch a glance of her.  
Seeing equipment being rolled down the sidewalk, Sansa quickly followed it. There was a van, the logo for Leo Studios plastered along the side. She saw little Tyrion Lannister and his bodyguard standing to the side, watching the equipment. She saw the limo, and in it, hopefully, her prince.

She walked by casually, feigning that it was something she did naturally every night of her life, even though the parking lot was on the other side of the building and her apartment in the opposite direction.

“Wait there,” a voice called out.

She turned, seeing first only Tyrion, his eyes scanning up her and then down, across the sidewalk.

Sansa followed the Imp of radio’s eyes then, down the sidewalk up the long legs. She smiled, pushing her hair back behind her ear, biting down on her bottom lip.  
“Sansa,” Joffery smiled. “I’m glad I got to see you.” His eyes still perused her, trying to find something. 

Sansa bowed her head slightly, looking up at Joffery through her eyelashes. “Me too. You were great tonight.” She heard Tyrion’s bodyguard laugh behind her and Tyrion slap his arm, suppressing a scoff. She chose to ignore this.

“So were you.” Joffery put his arm over her shoulder, pressing his hand against the wall, shielding Sansa from the world. “You looked great up there.” His other hand pushed a loose strand of hair from her face.

Sansa giggled some. “Thanks. It was your music though.”

He nodded, smiling knowingly. “Can I call you sometime?”

Sansa nodded, eager. She pulled a pen from her purse, taking Joffery’s hand and scribbling her digits on the soft, white underbelly of his arm. And taking a daring step, sealed it with a kiss.

Joffery smiled at her cunning, leaning in to steal a real kiss.

“Joffery, we need to go.” The Imp snapped.

Joffery rolled his eyes, leaning away from what Sansa would of considered a perfect moment to cap off a perfect night. “Dammit.” Joffery cursed. “Alright, fuck, I’ll get there!” He looked back at Sansa and laughed. “I’ll call you.”

Sansa nodded, breathless. He’ll call, she squealed excitedly to herself. She waved him goodbye as he entered the limo. Watched it speed away into the balmy night. Taking a victorious breath she began to stride back towards the actual way home. Half way there, she thought of her keys. 

Digging through her purse, she discovered they were nowhere to be found. Panic, actual tear inducing panic, began to hit Sansa. It wasn’t good to hang around the Dog House after hours, bad shit happened. Like, mythology shit happened. She went up to the backdoor, but it had been locked, the placed sealed up.

Covering her face and taking a few deep breaths, Sansa tried to gain some form of cool. What could she do? Call home? She laughed at the thought. Slowly walking towards the parking lot, maybe praying her car was unlocked and she could just sleep in it. But not such luck for the little bird, she was locked out. 

“Oh…mother fucker!” Sansa kicked the tire of her car and then laid her head against the glass. “Mother fucker…” she repeated under her breath.

Tapping on the glass.

She lifted her head, quickly, defensively. She looked into the warm, dark eyes of the bouncer. For a moment she felt cold. Was he following her? He was Gregor’s brother after all, who knows what he shares with the Mountain.

The bouncer then lifted his hand and Sansa braced herself. Jiggling, tinkling. She looked at his hand, and hanging from his fingers were her keys. She breathed, relieved and happy.

“Oh thank god!” She reached for them, her fingers touching his. “Oh thank you!” She wiped at her eyes. “I was beginning to panic. I swear. Oh thank you so much!”

“Best be careful.” The bouncer said, watching Sansa as she unlocked her car, watching whatever moved in the might. “You don’t need to be out here after hours.”

Sansa nodded, moving to place herself in the car. “I know. Thanks so much, again. Really.” She stopped herself, feeling somewhat obligated to repay him. After such a wonderful night that could of ended horribly, she was feeling more than generous. 

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Sansa asked. “To thank you for finding my keys.”

He shook his head. “No, little bird, just get home safe is all.”

She nodded, hesitating again. “I’m sorry…” She licked her lips. “I uh,” she laughed, embarrassed. “I don’t know your name. I mean, I know your Gregor‘s brother but…” She smiled, bashfully and sweet.

He nodded, his neck somewhat stiff. “It’s Sandor.” She didn’t notice the blush on his cheeks for a second time. 

“Sandor,” Sansa repeated and laughed. “I won’t forget it, really. Maybe I’ll bring you coffee one day.” She said, easing into her car.

Sandor nodded, placing his hand on the car door, closing it for her as she placed her seatbelt on. She smiled and waved to him through the window and then she was gone, only taillights in the night.

For a moment, she thought about Sandor and how nice he had been, how he had saved her skin. But soon, he was gone from her mind, her thoughts turning to Joffery.


	2. Sandor, the Bouncer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was very little Sandor enjoyed about this job. Most of the staff were under the spell of the coke his brother served. Gregor always made sure he was the one in control, the one holding the choke chain. Lord knows Sandor would have nothing to do with this place, it was as far as from his comfort zone as possible, and Gregor especially.

Chapter Two  
Despite how the Dog House looked from the front, flashing and glowing neon hues, ranging from royal purple to violent red, the back entrance was far from glamorous. It was dimly lit by a flickering light that cast shadows this way and that, shadows that appeared to move and lunge. It was cramped too, the walls from the club and the building beside it achingly close to touching. There was a dumpster, sagging and rusted from years and heavy use. The door was grey and rusted red, an angry dog’s face, spray painted in an unpleasant piss color, glowered at you as you waited to enter. Not to mention the feint odor of garbage and mildew.

It was not as inviting as the front to say the least. But what this back entrance did serve as was for a way that the wanted few gained their entrance. The beautiful dancer girls, the waxed, yet somehow scruffy bartenders, and the social elite who were paid to make the establishment look somehow royal. Most of the time there was a guard standing at this entrance, making sure no unwanted street urchin found their way inside where they weren’t wanted.

Normally, Sandor didn’t stand this watch, but tonight the scheduled bouncer hadn’t cared to show. So it fell on Sandor’s rather large shoulders to stand by the door, hearing the dull thud of the repetitious music inside, and the muffled giggles of the girls getting changed in the dressing rooms. 

When one of the staff came out of the back to smoke, he stood in silence avoiding them. Sandor hated their red hot cherries, the hiss of their lighters. He resigned himself to stomping out every single smoldering butt left by the coked out staff.

“They call him the Hound.” A drink girl whispered.

“Why?” The meth addicted bartender hissed back.

The waitress giggled quietly. “Does what he’s told, like a beaten dog.” 

The bartender sniggered, scratching at the sores under his sleeves. “I wonder if the leash is a kink.” 

There was very little Sandor enjoyed about this job. Most of the staff were under the spell of the coke his brother served. Gregor always made sure he was the one in control, the one holding the choke chain. Lord knows Sandor would have nothing to do with this place, it was as far as from his comfort zone as possible, and Gregor especially.

Some of the dancers were the only solace Sandor got. It was nice to see something so bright and beautiful in such a dark, ugly place. Some were even kind to him, sparing him a thankful smile when he helped them to and from their cages, walked them safely to their cars. He took care of all of them, but he made sure to take special care of those who showed him that, even in his brother’s world, there was a little hope. He would rather curse than admit that to himself though. His brother controlled so much of his world now.  
The backstage door opened, Tyrion Lannister and his bodyguard Bronn. Tyrion was muttering hellishly under his breath while Bronn just chuckled along. 

Bronn turned slightly, just enough to see Sandor standing at his post. He let loose a soft laugh. “I see they put the hound out back tonight.” 

Sandor rolled his eyes, arms stiffening behind his back.

Bronn pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, taking one for himself then handing the packet out towards Sandor. “Want one?”

“Don’t smoke.” Sandor’s voice grave.

“Of course you don’t,” Tyrion scoffed. “Don’t blame you either.” He slapped Bronn’s side. “Give one here.”

“Don’t you normally guard the girls?” Bronn passed the pack to Tyrion with one hand, removing his lighter with the other. “I see you walk ‘em too and fro.”

“Normally.” Sandor answered stiffly.

Tyrion snatched the lighter away from Bronn. “Do you know anything about the Stark girl?”

Sandor averted his eyes briefly. “She’s a nice girl. She’s younger than she looks too. You best keep your hands off her.”

Bronn let loose a horse laugh.

Tyrion scowled. “Not me.” He rolled his eyes. “My nephew.”

Sandor looked down at the Imp. “Then I suppose that’s fine.”

Bronn chuckled. “Defensive of the girl, are we?”

“It’s my job to make sure the girls are alright.” Sandor sniffed. 

Tyrion took a long drag on his cigarette. “She wouldn’t happen to be related to Ned Stark?” He dropped the butt and stomped on it. “The producer?”

“I’m not sure,” Sandor shook his head. “She doesn’t talk to me, so I’d have no info on her personal life.”

“She looks like Cat Stark.” Tyrion continued. “So she must be. She’s a good looking girl, but like you said, her blood is too young for my taste.”

“Oh yes, I’m so sure.” Bronn prodded. He then jerked his head towards the door. “I think we best be getting back inside. Lord forbid we miss Prince Joffery’s introduction.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “Lord forbid indeed.” He scoffed, walking towards the door. He then turned just before he went in, looking at Sandor as if he wanted to say something. But he shook his head and continued on his way.

A few moments later, Sandor could hear Tyrion’s voice booming dully from inside, and after that the music started, loud and repetitious like always. He rolled his eyes, never understanding why such music existed. Just another part of the job, he told himself.

He heard laughter at the end of the ally, little drunk girls falling over themselves. Cackling and snorting, holding onto each other to keep from tumbling into the concrete. He was so focused on them, making sure they didn’t try to come this way, and making sure they didn’t fall into the street, it barely registered to him the door opened.

“There you are.”

He looked down and his whole body tensed up.

She smiled, bright and sweet. “I was surprised when you didn’t escort me from the cage.” She held two bottles of water in her hands. “They told me you were out here.” She held up a bottle towards him. “This isn’t the coffee I promised, but I thought it might do for now.”

Sandor took the offering, her small white fingers touching his hardened ones. Warmth flooded him in that moment. “This is just fine.” He said.

Sansa smiled, bashful and awkward. 

“You best get back inside.” Sandor waved the bottle at the door. “This ally is no place for you.”

Sansa nodded, entering wordlessly, slipping away and disappearing back into the den of neon gods and thumping pulse.

Yes, there was extremely little Sandor enjoyed about this job, but at least there was her. He cracked open the cool water and poured it down his throat.

The door squeaked open again, and expecting another smoking break, Sandor stepped idly aside.

“Your brother wishes to see you,” it was Peytr Baelish who spoke, Gregor’s business partner and the provider of Gregor’s whores.

Sandor scoffed, wiping at his lips. “Who does he expect to watching the fucking door?”

“I’ll watch it,” Sandor hated the smirk Peytr always seemed to have. Something wrong with it. “He was rather insistent you arrive quickly.”

Best do what he says, no use in making Gregor mad, Sandor told himself. He moved quickly passed Peytr, him and his smile. Gregor was always angry, but he could always get angrier, and Sandor had personally been on the end of that stick one too many times.

Gregor’s office was all the way at the other end of the club. The stairs winding up above the front entrance, and then a narrow catwalk to the office door. Looking down from the catwalk, Sandor could see all of the club. A bowl of rainbow candies all mixing and writhing about. The cages at eyelevel. And looking ahead, just a little, she could see Sansa, dancing to her heart’s content. And Sandor was no fool, he could see all her energy being focus on Joffery at the front of the room.

Sandor turned then, going into his brother’s office. The dark little room, the only real light coming from the lamps on Gregor’s desk. The colored lights from outside flashed in through the wall sized window on the right of the wall, colorful shadows dancing on everything. You could see the whole world outside that window, all the thriving bodies, Gregor’s kingdom.

Gregor didn’t look up as Sandor walked in. Just kept looking at the razor between his finger tip. “About time you got here, dog.” He snarled under his breath. He cut his dark, empty eyes up upon his brother, tongue lashing across his teeth.

To say the Clegane brother’s had a strained relationship was putting it s laughingly light. Neither brother had ever consider each other such, and if it wasn’t for their ailing father, Sandor would of taken leave of the Mountain a millennia ago.

“I have a job for you.” Gregor waved the razor in the air. “I’ve been asked to provide guard service for that punk DJ. The little blonde shitstain.”

On top of all his other duties? Sandor held in the scoff. Why not also make him do the accounting, run Petyr’s errands, and test drive all the whores while he at it? But Sandor held his tongue, never said a word, never lost eye contact.

“I wouldn’t do it, but the Lannister bitch asked me to.” Gregor continued. He stood, towering and nearly touching the ceiling. That’s why there were no lights in the office, his head would hit them.

“So for as long as that fucker if here, you see to whatever the fuck he wants.” His lip curled up over his teeth. He rummaged through a drawer then sat back down in his chair.  
His eyes cut across Sandor and then he laughed. “That water is for the girls.” He growled. “Not for the goddamn likes of you.” He waved his hand to the trashcan. “Throw it away. Now. No one going to fucking touch it after your disgusting ass as.”

For a moment, Sandor contemplated just walking out, keeping the water. But instead he went to the trash can and did as he was told.

A cruel grin cut across Gregor’s face, his teeth like the jagged edges of a knife. “Still only drinking fish shit then? What? You also learned to piss sitting down?”

He grumbled under his breath, holding up the straw in his head and angling it towards the lines of powder on the mirror. “Get the fuck out now. I’m sick of looking at your ugly face.”

Sandor did as he was told, again. He quickly left the office, just as Gregor snorted loudly from behind. Closing the door, Sandor laughed to himself. Frustrated and fed up, and completely enable to escape it all. He looked up, watching Sansa in her cage, smile plastered on her face, waving down at Joffery.

He scoffed, turning away and stomping across the catwalk and down the stairs. He’d go back to his post, pray to god Petyr hadn’t let any of his whores in. Oh yeah, and also worry about the blonde fuck.

Sandor saw Bronn standing near the back, just enough in the shadows that he appeared to be doing his job, but was really eyeballing the waitress with peroxide for hair.  
Sandor came up to him and Bronn eyed him, smiling some. “Can I help you with something?”

“I’ve been appointed to watch over the boy whenever he’s performing here.”

Bronn nodded knowingly. “You poor, oaf. Ay, I’ll let Joffery know. Tyrion too.”

Sandor didn’t like it one bit, but he nodded and went back to his post outside. As he held the door open, Petyr just smirked at him, not saying a word. Just that fucking, shit eating grin. Sandor so wanted to slam the door on him, instead, he let the door hiss shut on it’s own.

Some hours later, Bronn stuck his head out the door. “C’mon, you’re needed.”

Sandor sighed, shuffling off behind Bronn and into the club. He went up to the front of the stage and stood beside Joffery. The boy looked up and over him, his face pulled back in a grimace for a moment. But once the kid realized why Sandor was there, he smirked. 

“Use as much force as necessary.” Joffery told him, insisting Sandor walk ahead of him. “I want to get out of here as quickly as possible.” He then laughed. “Oh yeah, and fetch me the red-headed dancer. Sansa I believe.”

Sandor scoffed under his breath, but he did as he was commanded. He safely got Joffery to his limo, and then returned, fetching Sansa from the bouncer leading her away from the cage.

“Joffery told me to bring you to him.” Sandor told her when she looked up inquisitively at him.

Sansa beamed, bright and full of bubbly excitement. “He did?” She squealed, following Sandor backstage. “Just wait for me. I’ll be changed in just a second!” She rushed back into the dressing room.

A few moments later, she remerged, the dancer visage gone, and it’s place the sweet appearance of an ordinary and beautiful girl.

Sandor led her outside and to the limo where she was welcomed in by Joffery. She kissed him quickly, giggling and proud. She didn’t look back as the door closed. And feeling his job had been complete, Sandor simply left.

 

Those blessed Monday mornings. The morning when he didn’t worry, when he could linger in his sanctuary for just a moment longer. The warmth of the sun on his scarred and cracked skin felt like a relief, cool sheets slipped away. He opened his eyes, hair plastered to her forehead. He took a deep breath, sighing. He was in his keep, no one could touch him here.

He contemplated rolling back over and sleeping in, but he’d have to get ready to go work at the carpenter shop. The morons who worked there could tell their own asses from a hammer without him. Also, Sandor smelled coffee.

Sitting up, and tugging a shirt over himself, he walked out into the kitchen where a woman was. She looked up, blue eyes over thick black rims.

“Good morning, dear.” She moved to the coffee pot, pouring black. “Coffee?”

“Gita, what the absolute fuck are you doing?” Sandor grumbled as he sat down at the kitchen island.

The brunette flipped her curly ponytail over her shoulder. “And what a good morning it is.” She set the coffee mug down before him. “You sounded agitated last night. I figured you’d need a good meal to start your week.”

Sandor‘s thick hand encircled the cup. “You are my tenant and my housekeeper, not my fucking mother.”

Gita took off her glasses. “Thank god I’m not. Your fat head would of ruined me.” She rubbed the lenses with her skirt.

Sandor tried to suppress his smile as he took his first sip. Gita always had the best coffee.

“Just the carpenter shop today?” Gita placed her glasses back onto her face and turned back to the stove, tossing a bowl of egg into a pan.

“Thank god.”

She looked back at him. “Hard night?”

Sandor grunted into his coffee.

Gita rolled her shoulders. “Aisha is making dinner tonight if you’d like to join us.”

Sandor didn’t make a sound, just held the mug out for a refill. 

“I think she’s said she making some sort of chicken.” Gita continued, pouring a full mug. “I’ll be making dessert though. I think some sort of pie.”

“Huckleberry.” Sandor grunted as he stood up, taking his coffee and heading for the studio.

Gita smirked after him. 

Sandor walked into his studio, full of sawdust and natural light. He checked on his projects, his carvings. Studying one he had been making of a great horse.

The door opened and slammed. “I’m back.” 

“Does no one fucking knock?” Sandor shouted through the loft.

“I love you too, deary.” The woman had a dog on a leash at her arm, a pale colored pitbull. She released her from the leash and the dog made a beeline for Sandor. 

Sandor reached down, cupping the top of her head. “Morning, Sweetpea.”

The woman with long, white dreadlocks went into the kitchen, hand slipping around Gita’s waist and kissing her neck. “I got the stuff for tonight.”

“Coffee is ready.” Gita said, meeting Aisha’s lips.


	3. Sansa, Silk Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had a misstep, the sash letting her fall free, sliding down its nylon length.  
> She met a hard landing, but not hard on the floor. Warmth wrapped round her legs and back, a groan underneath her. A grumbled swear as he shifted, sucking in breath.  
> The Hound!  
> She opened her eyes , cautiously. He was splayed beneath her, elbowing up slowly. He had broken her fall, and she had knocked him free of breath.

Chapter Three:  
She let her hair down, brushing her fingers through to undo the braid. Soft, bright curls, fire against porcelain. She had always considered her skin and hair her best features, well, aside from her legs.

She ignored the fact she was alone in the practice room, going ahead and deciding to practice her aerial silk dance for the Thursday crowd. Climbing up the black nylon and then shifting and moving ever so slightly, making the material suspend her, floating her like a fairy.

Her skin was still all tingly, excitement running through her blood. She had been with Joffery, watched him cut tracks at his family’s personal studio. She sat in the studio, watching as Joffery mixed new tracks and commanded orders. 

For a while, she was alone in the soundproof little booth, watching Joffery through a large window. Then, she was joined by Jaime Lannister, Joffery’s uncle, and a former teen idol. He was joined by his body guard, a woman named Brienne.

Jaime looked over Sansa, golden hair falling before his face. Sansa blushed, he was so good looking, and Joffery looked so much like him. She felt as if she were looking into her future.

“You must be the new girlfriend.” Jaime leaned against the window, grunting out a comfortable sigh.

The word, girlfriend, it gave Sansa excited little bubble in her stomach. She shrugged, blushing innocently. “Is that what Joffery said.”

“You’re the first girl he’s brought into the studio with him.” Jaime smirked.

Sansa beamed. “Really?”

Even thinking about it now, Sansa’s blush returned. 

What she managed to gloss over, to always forget, was the not so perfect things he did. The way he got purple in the face when mad. The way his moods snapped and wavered. All her thoughts were framed in gold, his golden hair , his charming grin. The fact he picked her. She was special, she thought.

She remembered over their short times alone, how he kissed her, more teeth than lips. He was rather sloppy-no- passionate! She corrected herself. His hands always groping the same places - always about his needs-!

She had a misstep, the sash letting her fall free, sliding down its nylon length.

She met a hard landing, but not hard on the floor. Warmth wrapped round her legs and back, a groan underneath her. A grumbled swear as he shifted, sucking in breath. 

The Hound!

She opened her eyes , cautiously. He was splayed beneath her, elbowing up slowly. He had broken her fall, and she had knocked him free of breath.

She jumped up, moving away and helping him sit upright. "Oh my gawd. Are you alright?” He hand slipped around his back. “Oh gawd, thank you. Thank you!" She sputtered breathlessly.

`He grunted, standing, turning her around with his hands, kneeling by her thighs. "You’ll have a nasty bruise here' he said, fingers gently grazing the plane of flesh beneath her right cheek.

She felt oddly embarrassed by the touch.

He frowned "Dinna take my tape off before shift. Sorry." He rasped.

"That's fine!" Sansa huffed. "But I landed on you pretty hard. Are you ok?" She wanted to stomp and scream, the fear making her panic and buggy.

He raised up, walking her back to the wait room "M’fine lass." He growled softly.

Sansa took a seat, clamping her hand around her chest. "I don't know what happened. I'm normally the best on the silks..." She heaved. She gripped at the seat, still feeling as if she was falling.

He knelt again, returned with cold water. "Drink this" he gruffly said, large hand rubbing the trembling expanse between her shoulder blades. “You’ve fallen, little bird," he smiled. "You’ll be up soon enough."

Sansa took the water, drinking, and then taking a deep breath. "Thank you." She coughed. "Oh wow..." She laughed. "I can't believe I'm still shaking."

She looked over at him and took another deep breath. "I didn't even know you were here."

"I’m always here" he grumbled, trying to sound kind.

Sana swallowed more water, her hands beginning to still. "It seems like it." She took another drink, the coolness soothing her.

He barked a soft laugh "Gave me a fright" he spat "I dunnna like those damn curtains."

She blushed some, having always believed the Hound and his brother impervious to fear. "I'm normally very good on them. I haven't fallen from them since I first started." She smiled at him, reassuringly. "I'm fine though. Really."

He motioned to her quivering hands, the sloshing water. "I’ll believe you when you don’t shake so. "

He stood, pacing around the room. Secretly glad she didn’t smoke.

Sansa laughed. "Physically I am fine." She corrected. 

She watched him pace, wondering what he could be so anxious about. Sure, she had fallen. By why did it bother him so? Aside from never showing fear, she also though the Clegane brothers had little care for others.

His eyes stared at her legs, he leaned against the counter nearby, enjoying simply looking at her. Studying her. The way her feet met her ankles, the sinew of muscle in her legs, the flare and dip of her hip. The soft fleshy pouch across her lower stomach.

The cup of water in her hand stilled, although she wasn't paying attention. She had gone from thinking about Joffery, to suddenly being in the presence of another man. While Joffery had his beauty, there was something different about Sandor that appealed to her as well, she didn't recognize it as attraction. She simply though it was gratitude. He had been so kind to her. 

She smiled, catching his gaze, and his eyes darted down to the floor.

Joffrey could be heard from down the hall, yelling abuse. He kicked in the door, complaining about how his face looked too stretched on the billboard out front. Sansa stood up then, setting the cup down. She watched for a moment, then slowly approached, reaching out and touching his arm gently.

His assistant, rather one of the studios, rolled her eyes. She had red hair and a long torso. "Yes sir." She said , making notes on her phone- or playing tetris.

"No one will notice, I'm sure." Sansa replied, reassuringly. "I think you look very handsome."

He looked at Sansa, still in a nasty attitude "You would think that, " he said sharply, "as you well should." He turned from her, getting into the mini-bar.

Sansa blushed, a slight giggle coming out.

He unstoppered a double , then threw it down in a fit "What’s so funny, Sansa?" He hissed, venomous. He leaned forward to her, stopping only for the figure coming between them slightly. The hound had simply need turn sideways in the small room.

"You don’t know anything, you stupid little slut," he spat. "Go back to your pole, or get on mine. Only one requires your mouth."

Sansa's eyes widened, jaw slack. She shook her head slowly, standing motionless as Joffery stormed away. She had meant no harm in laugh, she simply thought he was being funny. Why did this scare her more than falling? Why did she wish the hound had never saved her from it now?

Sandor stood, quiet, a line not to be crossed. 

The assistant raised her brows, waiting. After a long pause she cleared her throat.

"We’ve a meeting." She said, turning and leaving. 

Joffrey pushed his glasses up and left. Never thinking twice, never looking back at the girl he eviscerated.

Sansa turned, moving stiffly, and taking a seat again. She grasped her head in her hands, no longer aware that Sandor was still looking over her.  
He watched her , longer than he ever had. Finally breaking the silence when it became uncomfortable, even for him. "He’s always been a golden cunt." He said in his coarse way.

A hoarse laugh escaped Sansa's throat, more sob than chuckle. She wiped at her face and looked up at him. "He's just stressed, that’s all." She sniffled. "He's moody. He's an artist."

She plastered on a smile as big as she could muster.

Sandor’s mouth was a line, eyes searching hers. "Say the word, girl. He wont bother you again" he said. He nodded to her, walking out. It wasn’t his place to interfere in her relationship, he knew. She picked him. Let him pick her, rather.

He was harmless. That’s what he told himself. All bark and no bite. More angry kitten than wild lion like his mother.

Sansa's eyes followed him out the room. Sniffling once more, standing, rubbing her eyes, and heading back for the silks. She'd climb up, start again. No mistakes, she told herself. You can do much better than before. Show them you’re much better.


	4. Sandor, Burned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He busied himself, checking the normal security clearance lists for that night, almost fantasizing of being home in bed. He pinched his nose bridge, eyes screwed shut, his ears ringing and clotting out sound

Chapter Four:

Climbing higher and higher off the ground, that was always her favorite part, being high above everything and everyone. She could look down on everything, smiling, happy with what she was doing. She twisted the silks around her, dipping and easing back, gently swinging and sliding down. She twisted her turned, finally hanging as if she were in a swing, looking down as Margery and some of the other girls came in. She smiled, waving at them.

She spun back down, touching the ground, being caught by a laughing Margery. She stepped aside, having some of the other girls practice. She went to the dressing room, brushing her hair back, putting it in a tight bun. Joffery had been acting differently, and she hoped it wasn't her. Maybe he was jealous? After all she was a dancer. Maybe that’s what he was upset about.

She walked back out, going back up on the silks with Margery, practicing their full dance.

They went up the silks, then slid down, legs locked around their sheet. Pulling up, clawing, tumbling back down, caught around their legs, arms up, suspended in a back arch. She then fell, held up by her legs. Twisting around, silk sliding between her legs, feeling like a touch.

Sandor always kept an eye on her. Sometimes subtly, most times gazing outright. Today was no different. He watched her dance with those damn curtains, ready to catch her again. His face was a stressed line, watching her moves and graceful strength.

Her sapphire eyes flashed, meeting his, and for a moment he felt his face tug into a smile. 

She smiled back at him, bashfully. Good old Sandor, she thought to herself. Thank god for him. She slid down off the curtains, bare feet touching the ground.

As it broke, his smirk faded. It would be a long night, and he was always drained on Thursdays.

He busied himself, checking the normal security clearance lists for that night, almost fantasizing of being home in bed. He pinched his nose bridge, eyes screwed shut, his ears ringing and clotting out sound.

The backstage was getting busier and busier, Sansa went with the other girls to the dressing room, having Margery do her hair as she did her makeup, returning the favor for her.

"Where'd you get that bruise?" Margery asked.

Sansa looked at her thigh, touching it. "Oh, I had an accident on the silks earlier. I'm fine." She waved it off.

"You were practicing without supervision?" Margery snapped.

Sansa shook her head. "No. No." She swallowed. "Sandor was there."

Margery arched a brow. "Who?"

"Sandor the...the bodyguard?" Sansa said. "Gregor's little brother?"

"Oh!" Margery gasped, then smirking in her way. "The burned one."

Sansa furrowed her brow at this. "Burned?" He head tilting.

"You can't see the scars?" Margery asked. "Oh, they used to be worse before you started working here. He got skins grafts on his face, but I hear the rest of him is in horrid shape still. That's why he always wears long sleeves."

Sansa bit her lip. "I...I didn't know. I really haven't paid attention to that." She said, Margery quickly changing the subject as they slipped into their costumes.

Their shift ended near dawn, an hour before last call. Sandor was on a barstool by the emergency exit, arms tucked beneath his pits, face hard and eyes in shadow. He watched as Sansa moved to the changing rooms, and perked up. He nodded to the bartender, signaling a short absence as he escorted the remaining girls to their cars. Sansa was the only that he ended up with, always the last to leave.

He approached the open hall, watching her check her phone at her dresser. "All set?" He finally asked, after feeling slightly guilty for catching her in a candid moment.

She pulled her bag up on her shoulder, looking up at him expectantly as she came out of the changing room. "Hey." She laughed, flushing a bit in the face. “Yes, ready.”

He swallowed, mouth drying slightly as she talked to him so easily. He held the doors for her, following silently as she entered the parking complex across the street.

"You did well. Didn’t fall." He said sincerely

Sansa blushed. "I told you I was good." She chuckled. "Thank you." She looked up at him. "You seem tired." She said. "Do you need me to bring you a coffee or anything?" The information Margery had given her flew through her curious head.

He scoffed softly "I need more coffee than is available in this hemisphere, bird."

Was he making a joke?

Sansa chuckled unsurely. "Well, you can always just start with one cup."She tucked a stray lock behind her ear. "I don't mind bringing you back one."

He shook his head "I’ll be off in an hour and a half. Its not safe out around this time, alone." He smiled lopsidedly at her , the left side of his face pulling a little tighter  
Sansa nodded. "Ok then. And thank you again." Nervous tension gripping her gut. "You were right, got a pretty big bruise on my thigh already."

"Oh yeah?" He said, leaning against the car next to hers. "Icing it well?"

Sansa nodded, lips pressed together. "I've been working so I haven't been able to yet." She said, bending and lifting her skirt high up off her thigh, cotton white panties showing. "See? I can't imagine what it'll look like in the morning."

He turned his head, mouth getting cottoned again, quietly nodding. "Aye, looks painful." His lip twitched slightly, tongue darting at it, wetting his mouth.

Sansa turned and pointed her leg. "Goes almost all the way around." She then dropped her skirt, smoothing it out. "I'll ice it, hopefully it won't get much darker."

He smirked, watching her lock herself into her car. He backed away, the last of his energy and patience leaving with her.

Sansa went home, changing first and then getting a bag and filling it with ice. As she laid down to watch TV she slipped the bag over her thigh. For a moment, she thought of Sandor, his awkward smile. It was the first time, in a long while, she hadn't thought of Joffery.

Sandor drug his hands down his face, nearly falling through his door. The sky was light and misty, threatening rain. He entered his place, rusty lock needing a good strong turn to be opened.

Inside it was quiet, Sweetpea, his dog, was with Gita, his house keeper, for the night. He walked out of his work boots, kicking them into the alcove by the door, mentally measuring if he could stay awake long enough to bathe.

For eight years he had worked this hellish shift, eight years since the accident that seared and stole his face. Eight years in debt to Gregor.

He checked the fridge, empty. He would have to leave money and a list for Gita. He clenched his eyes again at the growing list of tasks ahead.

His couch was more often his bed than not, a beaten threadbare thing. His empty studio flat was his home for the time he spent working for Gregor, all while keeping the Dogswood running, the carpentry shop his father had started eons ago.

His home smelled of woodcarvings, and stone. He made it to his couch, no wind down. He fell into the comfortable dent, not bothering to undress. He thought of Sansa, in that sublime twilight between wake and rest. The only time he really freely would. Without guilt. He saw her smile , holding to that as the darkness took him.

The morning, rather late afternoon, came with a car alarm sounding below his building. He groaned, clicking and scraping on his concrete floor, a happy pant met him. He was covered in a throw blanket. Gita, he thought, petting Sweetpea as she attempted to be a lap dog.

He growled, testing if he was alone in his home. The toilet flushed and an accented voice bid him good morning. He point at the fridge, rubbing his face roughly. "That thing didn’t give me food!" He grumbled. “I think it needs...food," he finished lamely, resuming petting Sweetpea’s scarred muzzle.

Gita looked over her shoulder at him. "Well this thing has food." She said with a chirp, pointing to herself. She tucked a stray dark lock behind her ear and pulled a warm tray from the oven. It was heavy with homemade biscuits, gravy, and bacon. "I'll make the eggs fresh if you want ‘em."

"I’ll have to make you a list or.." he sighed, sitting up, hair standing in patchy places.

Gita smirked. "I know your list by now." She laughed.

"You know what I eat," he grumbled, pulling his wallet from his pocket, throwing it in her direction. He shifted, curling around his dog.

Gita took his wallet, taking a few bills and stuffing them into her bra. "You got in pretty late last night. You seeing anyone special?"

He frowned, eyes opening, remaining quiet. "‘m always late," he deferred.

Gita shrugged. "Awful late last night though. What about that pretty girl from the craft shop? She's been by a lot recently."

"Pretty..what?" His mind relaxed, flooding thoughts of sansa ebbed. "Oh that dread locked bint," he groaned. "She delivers my supplies. Barely spoke a word to her." He frowned, as if that was a measure of his affection or lack of. "Er names sasha..or.. geisha or something."

"You don't need to talk to somebody." Gita teased. "Once you got them laid out, don't matter what they say does it?" She winked playfully.

He frowned at her, making an ugly face. "Foods burning."

Gita threw her head back, laughing, removing the pan from the stove. "So really? A big handsome lug like you ain't got some sweet charm on his arm?"

"Oh yeah. Gotta beat em off with a stick," he responded bitterly, hand moving to his grafted cheek.

He frowned more, but it softened thinking on how Sansa looked him in the eyes now when they spoke.  
His throat felt tight, and he felt too warm.

"You're blushing." Gita whispered, leaning across the counter towards him.

"My face doesn’t work like that, crazy cow" he growled, blush creeping up his neck and ears. He enjoyed Gita, but only so much at a time. He moved upstairs to the loft where his bed stayed, perfectly made since last time. He grimaced at it, wondering if he would ever have a reason to use it.

Gita shifted back, smirking. "You want me to go shopping first or do ya want me to clean and do the laundry first?"

Sweetpea whimpered at the bottom of the narrow stairs, pacing. He rolled his eyes, grabbing fresh clothes. "I want you to become a steak and shut it."

He descended , clean clothes over one arm.

"Less you fancy me naked I suggest shopping." He said, pulling off his dirty socks at the table.

Gita laughed, eyes rolling. "Oh I fancy alright. I fancy it a lot." She turned the oven off and removed the apron she was wearing. "But I'll scram for you. Just get the laundry ready for me when I get back. And call me if you think of anything at all." She picked up her bag from the edge of the counter. "I'll be back, sir." She said with a salute as she left.

He wolfed down the food, wiping his greasy hands on his clothes, leaving them strewn in a trail out of spite.

After he was clean he felt further away from the club, the assholes who comprised it, and his brother. He went through his back door, entering the small garage below his flat from the outside. Inside was the source of the woody scent that permeated everything he owned. Large blocks of different shaded woods lined the walls, as well as planks and a handful of shaved trunks. His work desk was always under a drift of woodchips and sawdust. He sat , looking over his latest work. He had begun an endless wooden chain, and was nearly finished. It was seamless, fifteen links long. He thought of Sansa, and lost himself in that.

He stared out the ground level window, eyes unfocused. He thought of the lines of her legs, the bloody rush of hair from her head. Of the dusky black bruise upon her perfect thigh.

A passing delivery truck shook the far wall, detouring him from his trail of thought.

He frowned, and soon was engrossed in carving.

Gita came in upstairs, setting the bags of groceries on the table, then leaning down and giving Sweetpea a treat. "Sandor!" She called out, opening the fridge. "Food is here! I picked us up something for lunch!" She began stuffing the fridge full again. As she finished putting away all the food, setting out the lunch they had bought for them to share, she saw the trail of clothes leading from the stairs to the bathroom.

Oh for fuck’s sake, Sandor!" She shouted, stomping along the path.

It was like living with a vindictive sibling, she muttered to herself, picking up the trail of clothes.

She finished gathering the laundry, setting it aside, she'd then take it to her apartment where the laundry room was located. She sat down, tired of waiting on Sandor and opening up the box of fresh sandwiches she had bought at the deli. She was chewing slowly, thinking about Sandor this morning and their conversation.

It was obvious he had at least someone on his mind. She knew it wasn't Aisha. She licked at her lip, looking out the window. Aisha, yes. Her and her white dreadlocks, smug smile, strong arms. She had first met her when Sandor had brought her to his apartment, back when he was helping her sober up.

She was cleaning, starting in on what would be her normal daily routine. This was back when the laundry room was still in his studio. She had been given strict instructions not to clean or touch anything in the studio. No one was.


	5. Sansa, Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He watched Sansa closer than ever that night. He wasn’t staring like most men did, he watched her out of concern and guilt. The poor little thing, up in her cage. Yes, she was safe there. But the cage she entered when she left was the trap. She’d go to that blonde twat’s arms, arms that constricted tight not from love, but from selfish greed and sociopathic lust.

Pulling down her sleeve away from her shoulder, she studied the bruise. A large, purple, blue, and black thing the size of Joffery’s palm. The red strap of her bra like a slash through it. 

He didn’t mean to push me that hard, Sansa thought, pulling her sleeve back up. There was probably another bruise on her back from were she hit the corner of the wall. 

I’m sure he didn’t mean to leave a bruise like that. He was just aggravated with the recording. 

She washed her face, removing the bleeding mascara and eyeliner, her eye shadow smudged all the way around. She sniffled, looking down at her phone to check the time. She sighed, frustrated. Time to go to work.

She picked up her bag and headed out the door. She didn’t want to see Joffery, didn’t want to show off the bruises. She’d have to explain then as he being stupid, slipping and falling, not paying attention and hitting a door. 

I’m not stupid, she told herself bitterly.

She would have to pick and outfit that covered her shoulder and back, she could wear tights to cover the bruise on her thigh. She didn’t like wearing things that covered her back while she danced, she got hot and sweaty, and she hated the feeling of the clothes clinging to her.

As she walked inside, she saw Tyrion and Braunn and Sandor standing together, discussing the stage, preparing for Joffery’s album launch that was being held in the club. Sansa often wondered why Gregor was never around to deal with this business.

He just takes the money and runs, Sansa thought.

Sandor turned slightly at the sound of the door opening and she purposefully caught his eye. She waved, smiling warmly. She forgot that she owed him a coffee. She was too preoccupied thinking how she’d go about covering the bruise, how she would lie about it.

I really don’t want Sandor to see, Sansa thought, panic rising up inside her. If he sees it… She looked over Sandor, Joffery looked like a child standing next to Him. His hands, arms, god they were huge things. He’d have Joffery a puddle in seconds. This thought made her smile, some secret and pleased. 

Sandor smiled back at her, a nervous confused thing, skin pulling tighter on the left side than the other. He’d been burnt, Sansa remembered. Margarey had told her that he had skin grafts, enough to make him look normal, but not enough so that he felt comfortable wearing short sleeve shirts or parade around the girls like some of the other guards did.

“He works here to pay off Gregor.” Margarey said. “He paid for all the surgery, all the hospital bills.” She leaned close to Sansa, whispering. “Some say Gregor was the one who did it too. There are a lot of rumors about what happened to the Hound.”

Sansa didn’t like that nickname for him, he had a name, why not call him that? 

And She believed Gregor was capable of that great evil. Burning his little brother alive, and then paying for hospital bills he insisted be paid back? The was what was really ugly. Thank God Gregor had money, or else she’d doubt anyone would touch him.

She went into the dressing room, trying to find something to hide her bruise. But all of them showed off either some or most of the horrible blemish. She shook her head, picking one out and changing. She sat and did her make-up. She had come early in an attempt to hide the bruises from prying eyes. 

I don’t need any fucking gossip, she growled at herself. I don’t need anything getting back home.

She went outside, sitting on the bench in the dark little alleyway. The air was cool that evening, scented of ocean and salt, and unfortunately street vomit. She sat there, a cold water bottle between her knees.

The door opened and she looked up, Sandor coming out carrying several empty boxes. He chucked them into the dumpster then stood on the other end of the bench.

“Busy night?” Sansa asked, cracking open the water.

Sandor shrugged. “No more than normal. Just On the beck and call of that little blonde shit.” 

Sansa chuckled, taking a small drink.

“What is that?” Sandor asked, walking around and pointing to the bruise on her shoulder.

She swallowed, nerves flaring in the pit of her stomach. “What?” She laid her palm on the bruise. “This old thing?” She forced herself to chuckle lightly. “This old thing? I got it a few days, dancing too wild and hitting the cage.”

Sandor furrowed his brow, she was lying, and not very well.

“Matches the one on my thigh right?” Sansa continued.

No, Sandor thought, the one on you shoulder looks fresh, the one on your thigh is older.

“You don’t have to lie to me, little bird.”

Sansa bit down on her lip. If she were to tell anybody, she’d tell him. But she couldn’t now, couldn’t admit it to herself. “I’m not lying.” Her voice a soft rasp.

Sandor sighed, shaking his head. Given the chance, he’d push that little golden cunt’s face into a brick wall, hopefully knocking loose a few teeth, removing his nose from perfect symmetry. 

Sansa chuckled, patting his hand. “I’m not! I’m just a stupid girl, can’t pay attention.” She shrugged. “It happens.”

Sandor screwed his mouth into a tight line. “You’re not stupid.”

Sansa’s mouth pulled up to one side. “Thanks.” She said with a stiff nod.

“Just know,” Sandor started, “if I see another bruise on you, someone is going to need a new face.”

Sansa felt breathless for a moment. No one had ever fought over her, for her. 

“And believe me, that little shit will match the red and gold his family loves so much.”

Sansa nodded. “Ok.” She mumbled. “But I’m fine really, Sandor, no need to get so defensive over me.” She stood up, smiling at him and placing the water bottle in his hands. “I can take care of myself. I’m braver than you think.” 

She let her hand linger on his for a moment longer, slipping them away and then going back inside.

He brother’s wouldn’t of hesitated, they wouldn’t of waited for her to give the command. But her brothers weren’t here, they had no idea how she was living her life now. Robb, Bran, and Rickon, even Jon. The moment they saw the bruise they would’ve gone, coming home to ask questions later. But Sandor…he waited, sat beside her like a good dog, waiting for her to snap her fingers, command him to rip Joffery’s pale throat out.

He didn’t mean it though, she repeated to herself. This time was an accident. He said he wouldn’t do it again.

Sandor found it hard not to be spiteful that night, tempted so many times to trip Joffery in the ally, loose grip on one of the speakers and have it fall on his precious little head. But he held back as best he could. He knew if anything were to happen to precious baby Joffery, he’d pitch a royal temper tantrum, his anger more than likely to be directed on Sansa. 

So Sandor behaved himself, the worst he could allow himself to do was report to Gregor saying Joffery wanted to speak to him personally. Which of course he didn’t. But Gregor was too aggravated, and Joffery to terrified of him that neither questioned the situation. It was nice to watch the little welp cower. The first time, Sandor enjoyed his brother’s anger.

It was hard not to notice the change coming over Gregor, a new drug taking hold of him. New black deals coming through the door than ever. He blamed that Peyter Baelish, the many was sticky with all the pies he had his fingers in. He was trying to control Gregor, using the drugs to fuel the mountain, money to lead him. 

And people call me the Hound, Sandor spit.

He watched Sansa closer than ever that night. He wasn’t staring like most men did, he watched her out of concern and guilt. The poor little thing, up in her cage. Yes, she was safe there. But the cage she entered when she left was the trap. She’d go to that blonde twat’s arms, arms that constricted tight not from love, but from selfish greed and sociopathic lust.

At the end of the night, Sansa waited on Joffery. She watched as his equipment was loaded and taken away. He never showed, so she went searching him out. She went to the room where he had been set up. The door was wide open and inside he could hear laughter and loud music. Stepping inside she saw Joffery, Margarey half naked in his lap. 

“Joffery?” She asked.

Joffery’s smile vanishedm melting away into a cruel gash across his face. Maragrey stood away and Joffery stood, waving to the new bodyguards he had hired. 

“Come outside with me.” He said cooly, putting his arm around Sansa’s shoulder.

“What was that?” Sansa asked, trying to keep her cool. They walked out into the alleyway. “What’s going on, Joffery?”

“Listen here, girl.” Joffery began.

Sansa slapped his hand away. “Don’t call me that, you little shit!” She shouted, instantly regretting it.

Joffery’s eyes narrowed on her, slowly raising his hands to his bodyguards.

Sansa shook her head, watching the guards advance towards her. “Oh no, no.” Her chest shuddering. “Oh please, Joffery, no! I’m so sorry. Joffery no!”

She didn’t hear what Joffery said, she raised her hands above her head, feeling the ground smack her in the face as a bodyguard threw her to the ground. She continued to scream out, begging for mercy. Just mercy, that’s all she wanted.


	6. Sandor, Fist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tried not to linger there, so much of his rage still seeping to be released. Every time his eyes would close, and rest would threaten to come, he would see her hours previous - thrown to the ground and screaming hoarsely.

His jaw ached. It had been clenched for hours, fingers laced under his chin. The skin on his knuckles scraped, dark purple with use. 

Her heart monitor was steady, thrumming to a half-step with her rising and falling chest. Her eyes fluttered, one swollen shut. 

He tried not to linger there, so much of his rage still seeping to be released. Every time his eyes would close, and rest would threaten to come, he would see her hours previous - thrown to the ground and screaming hoarsely. 

‘Please’ she could barely rasp, gagging when they kicked her ribs. 

He had acted before he thought, his fist meeting Meryn’s temple with an appetizing crack. It wasn’t much, he could take a hit- but surprise was on his side. 

Golden haired cunt, his thoughts hissed, remembering how his knee met with the bastard’s gut. He doubled over simply enough, the other guard just stood and watched. Meryn slugged him in the jaw, it was a solid hit. It stung the good half of his face. 

He couldn’t imagine how badly she ached. “Nothing compared to the healing,” he breathed, confessing to no one. 

Meryn’s teeth pushed in easily enough, but pulling his arms out of socket seemed to be the only thing to subdue him. He scoffed. He would have done more than subdue him, he growled inwardly. But little bird was broken on the ground, and she needed the hospital. 

The drive there had been a blur. Blood thrummed in his ears, and she was barely concious. “I’ll keep you safe,” he had said, his voice rasping much more than it had in years. No one would hurt her again, or he’d kill them.

He had waited at her side for hours, pain meds coursing through her, bringing rest easy. They woke her long enough for her to identify her attackers, to consent to his help. She didn’t cry. Always polite, but she visibly relaxed with medicine.

His hands shook when he moved them from under his chin, only stilling if he touched her small ones, gentle as he could.

It would be four days before she was cognizant enough for release. He took her home, with her consent. His home. He piggybacked her to his loft, unused bed finally having an occupant.

He scratched his good half, frowning. He needed to shave, and bathe. He did not wish to leave her side, but he knew she wouldn’t heal any faster whether he watched her sleep or not. He touched his ruined side, the skin there never grew hair. No need to frighten her, he smirked. As if a few patches of hair would scare his brave bird. Gods he needed sleep.

He awoke not knowing what day it was. He wasn’t rested, but he had slept. His foggy mind moved to her, and he jolted up from the couch. He looked to his loft, unable to see anything but the lip of his mattress

He smelled food, head turning to find Gita cooking. 

It had been a week? 

He frowned, motioning for her to be quiet. She rolled her eyes, as if to say ’ I’m not making noise!’

Sweetpea’s tail was whapping against the end of the couch, whining and pacing at the loft staircase

He rose, taking the steps two at a time. Sansa lay, curled in a small knotted ball in the center of his bed, thick white covers strewn around her. The mattress dipped underneath her. 

She had made a nest, he thought. His heart jumped into his throat, words clogged there. 

Should he wake her? 

No. He decided. 

He moved downstairs to Gita, his face allowing her no questions. “Leave some for my guest,” he growled lowly, quiet.

She nodded, side eyeing him before leaving, taking the whining dog with her. She had made bacon and eggs for two, not taking any for herself. He grimaced, not looking forward to explaining anything.

The door closed, and they were alone.

He pulled his dead phone from his pants, turning it on long enough to get a headache at all the missed calls and messages. He turned it off by delicately throwing it out the nearest cracked window.

He brought her a plate, sitting it on the small shelf nearest her head on the bed. He could rest tonight, but tomorrow he was needed at the Dogswood. 

Then he would deal with Gregor. 

His face pulled, and burned thinking of his brother. What was one dancer to him? He avoided thinking of repercussions from the Lannister cunts. 

One thing at a time, he grumbled to himself, taking his place back on his couch , food inhaled, and sleep welcomed as a black expanse.


	7. Sansa, Safe Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The house bubbled with laughter before he opened the door. Three women waited inside, curled around his unused bar. Hot food met his nose, he could hear soup bubbling. His stomach lurched with hunger, he hadn’t eaten a real meal in a week.

Soft. Everything was soft. She woke, balled up, her whole body tight, sore. She uncurled herself, sitting up on the bed and looking out the window. She touched her hand to her eye, the one that wouldn’t open. She swallowed, mouth dry. Joffery had set his dogs upon her. For what? Because she had caught him? He was the one who had been wrong. She shook her head, shaking Joffery and his dogs from her head. She set her feet on the ground.

"Where am I?" She thought, looking around the room. Sparsely decorated, old wood, and natural light. It was a comforting place, a little nest settled high above the rest of the room.

With some effort she stood, looking down on the rest of the apartment. Bare brick walls, old wood floors. She couldn’t say what day it was. But the night that Joffery had her thrown to the street, she could barely remember things. She could remember the guards above her and then they were gone. She was in a car.

"I’ll keep you safe." he said.

Who said? She strained, trying to remember.

She walked down the stairs, feet landing silently on the floor. She remembered the hospital, nurses and doctors over her asking her questions, shouting things. A hand clung to hers, shouting concernedly above them.

She stopped midway through the kitchen. “Sandor…” She whispered, his face finally coming into view, holding her, fighting over her, guarding her like always.

Like always.

She found the bathroom, a little room just behind the kitchen. She sat there for the longest time, thinking, wondering, trying to forget. Where was Sandor now? Below, she could hear clanging and thudding.

Leaving the bathroom she entered the apartment slowly, listening to the noise below. As she headed towards the door, it opened, and a woman walked in. Tall and curvy, pitch hair hung in loose curls at her chin.

Her wide brown eyes met Sansa’s and her mouth dropped open.

"You’re up!" She gasped, approaching cautiously. "How do you feel?"

Sansa looked her over unsurely. She was so pretty. She never realized Sandor had a girlfriend. “I’m fine.” Her voice cracked.

Gita’s brow pinched together sympathetically, maternal instinct kicking in and going into overdrive. “Do you need some painkillers?” She asked. “You prescriptions are here on the counter. But you’ll need to eat first.” She smiled softly. “I’m Gita, by the way.”

Sansa tried to smile, but it hurt her mouth. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Gita smiled back. “Are you hungry then?”

Sansa nodded, watching as Gita set to work in the kitchen.

"What are you in the mood for?" Gita asked, opening the freshly stocked fridge.

Sansa shook her head. “I’m just…”

Gita held her hand up. “I understand, sweetheart.” She nodded to the sofa. “Why don’t you go sit down, turn on the telly, and mama Gita will bring you a big meal.” She then turned to the coffee pot. “Coffee too?”

Sansa nodded, Gita’s warmth a and welcome surprise.

Gita watched as Sansa went to the sofa, setting herself down on what was basically Sandor’s bed. Her heart went out to the girl, having been in her shoes not long enough ago.

Sansa nestled into the sofa, soft and worn in. She found the remote on the table, but as she reached out, seeing the bruises along her arm, she recoiled, tucking herself in and leaning into the soft cushions. It smelled like him.

Aisha came in, trailing woodchips. She moved to Gita, dramatically throwing herself on her “Help me, I’ve not eaten in an hour and I’m going to starve,” she exclaimed, falling onto Gita as she prepped food. “Oh, you’re making me second lunch too?” She picked some of the ingredients, popping them in her mouth.

Gita slapped her hard on the arm and pointed to the couch. “Hush now! The girl is up!”

Sansa barely moved to look to see who had come in, aside from a startled jump. It wasn’t Sandor, there was no reason to get up yet.

Gita whined, looping her hands around her waist, head over her shoulder “So some pretty redhead comes over and suddenly I’m chopped liver? I see how it is.” She falsely pouted, teeth finding the crook of Gita’s neck, nibbling gently

Gita flinched, Aisha knew her weakness. “I’m trying to cook for the poor thing. She hasn’t eaten since Sandor brought her over.” She hissed. “I’m serious, stop it now, vermon!”

Sansa stretched out now on the sofa, face half buried in the plush cushions, she felt like she could sleep again, comforted by the scent alone. Sansa looked up, hearing Gita giggle. She arched her brows slightly. Maybe she wasn’t Sandor’s girlfriend?

Aisha kissed Gita deeply , sneakily stealing a slab of ham from her sandwich supplies. She grinned, breaking the kiss, stuffing ham in her mouth and running away before Gita could give chase.

Gita grunted, swinging at her then turning, catching Sansa’s eye. She blushed, smiling apologetically. “Sorry about that. Girlfriends.” She laughed, rolling her eyes, returning to making a meal for Sansa.

Sansa nodded. “So…is this Sandor’s place or yours?” She asked quietly.

"Sandor’s," Gita answered swiftly. "This whole building actually." She continued, folding more meat into a sandwich. "I rent the storefront apartment below."

Sansa nodded, turning her head away.

"He’s working at the carpentry shop right now." Gita said, reading Sansa like a book. "He didn’t want to go, believe me, he fought with it, but they needed him today."

Sansa looked back at her, a small smile appearing on her lips.

"He’ll be late, but I’ll make a big meal." Gita continued, she stopped for a moment, smiling gently at Sansa. "He didn’t leave your side for a week. He was so worried about you."

Sansa’s cheeks flushed and her heart stopped for a moment. All of her quiet, feeling like new for the first time in, well, she couldn’t remember.

Gita brought her a big sandwich and a cup of coffee along with a cold glass of water and a single pill. “Eat up, then take this. Make sure you drink all that water too, you need it.”

Sansa took it and smiled. “Thank you,” she said gratefully. “This looks wonderful.”

Gita nodded, standing on the far-side of the sofa. “I can draw you a bath if you’d like?”

Sansa was hungrily devouring the sandwich, and Gita enjoyed watching her. Watching a wee bit of life coming back to the poor girl’s eyes.

Sansa wiped her mouth. “That sounds nice.”

Gita stood, going to the bathroom and turning on the water. She went quickly to her apartment, grabbing some of her products. All Sandor had was some soap and an old rag for his bathing.

She fixed Sansa’s bath up, epsom salts to soothe her sore muscles, some scented oils for aromatherapy. She set it up nicely and when she returned Sansa had just finished her water.

"You take as long as you need." Gita said, helping Sansa peel out of her clothes. "I’ll be right outside reading. Holler at me if you need anything."

Sansa smiled, thanking her, and easing into the warm water. She sighed, relieved. The hot water soothed and stung. The water soon becoming a diluted pink from all the blood.

I could stay in here for hours. Sansa thought.

"I’ll keep you safe." He said. 

She was sure there were tears in his eyes, the more she began to remember. His face wet with blood, some his, and something else, sweat maybe. But Sansa thought he had been crying.

She wanted him back. Wanted him there. It was getting harder and harder trying to forget that night, Joffery’s face especially.

"Golden cunt," Sansa hissed Sandor’s words.

She looked up, realizing now she was in Sandor’s tub, and she suddenly felt secretly pleased.

She stayed in the tub as long as she pleased, at least until the water chilled. When she got up she found the clothes Gita had left for her, a pair of soft pajama pants and a long sleeved top. She put them on gratefully. The top light and covered her bruises.

When she came out Gita was starting dinner.

"I thought you turned into a mermaid for a moment." Gita chuckled.

Sansa smiled. “It was nice. I didn’t wanna leave.” She went to the kitchen island, sitting at one of the stools and watching Gita work.

"I do love a good bath." Gita smiled. "But eh, Sandor doesn’t exactly have the most lady friendly bathroom." She said shrugging. "He added that thing on himself a few years ago."

"So he is a carpentar." Sansa murmured softly, recalling a few of the rumors about him she’d heard about the Dog House.

Gita looked her over. “More than that. Sandor is a mighty fine artist.”

Sansa perked up. “Artist?” She tucked her hair behind her ear.

Gita nodded. “A wood carver. He’s remarkable.” She spoke between chopping. “You’ll have to ask him to take you to his studio.” She sliced a pepper in half. “I’d take you, but he’d mighty mad at me.” She smirked.

Sansa furrowed her brow.

Gita laughed. “Rather intimate place his workshop.” She pushed her hair away from her forehead, a jagged scar on her right temple. “Won’t even let me clean it.” She noticed Sansa fidgeting with her hair. “Barely lets Aisha deliver his supplies.” She pointed. “Need me to fix that up for you?”

"Do you mind?" Sansa asked.

Gita shook her head. “Not at all, mermaid.” She chuckled. She walked around, brushing her fingers through Sansa’s long red hair. Sectioning it off and doing it into a quick braid. She pulled a ribbon from her hair to tie it off at the bottom.

"Thank you." Sansa pulled it over her shoulder, stroking it.

"Now, you can watch me cook and prattle on with me, or you can watch TV."

Sansa shrugged. “I’ll watch you, if you don’t mind.”

Gita started chopping mushrooms. “Not at all.”

As the evening wore on and Gita cooked, Aisha came in, freshly cleaned herself. Sansa was grateful for them there. Gita, warm and feminine, Aiha, strong and bright. She felt safe between them. They helped the hours tick by until Sandor’s truck pulled up outside, and excitement filled her.

The house bubbled with laughter before he opened the door. Three women waited inside, curled around his unused bar. Hot food met his nose, he could hear soup bubbling. His stomach lurched with hunger, he hadn’t eaten a real meal in a week. 

Sansa’s laugh rang through his home, bouncing off the stone walls. Aisha was snorting, making Sansa laugh harder. He felt tension melt off him in slabs. He kicked his work boots off in the alcove near the door, cracking his neck and back before coming into the kitchen.

Sansa had her arms wrapped around her ribcage, laughing hard at Aisha and her antics.

"Stop making her laugh! You’re gonna hurt the girl." Gita hissed, her neck stiffening at the sound of Sandor approaching.

Sweet Pea looked at him dolefully over the back of the couch, well trained not to beg for food. His smile was a small line. “Morning,” he said to Sansa, taking a drink from the fridge, the remaining seat at the end of the bar next to Sansa

Sansa smiled at him, unsure of what to do or say. He saved her life. He took her in. “Good morning.” She whispered softly, it was all she could think.

"I feel like a Disney song should be playing." Gita whispered to Aisha.

"How was work?” Sansa murmured, rubbing her arms, sleeve covering her hands.

Aisha continued her story, ribbing Gita lightly. Sandor didn’t speak much, just the quiet response to questions. A groan of approval when food was bowled up.

"Long," he had sighed over the soup and bread

Sansa watched him for a moment before digging into her own food. “Gita, you’re the best cook.” She said after a few bites.

"Aww, thank you Mermaid." Gita grinned.

After they finished their meal, Sansa excused herself to go back to bed. As she left, she touched Sandor’s arm gently, meeting his eyes. “Good night.” She said, wanting to say thank you, wanting to just throw her arms around him. Not now, she told herself. She let her fingers linger for a moment before she disappeared back up into the loft, snuggling back down to make her nest.

Gita smiled to Sandor, cleaning things up, saying she’d wash the dishes in the morning and her and Aisha took their leave.

He made his way to the couch, sneaky Sweet Pea waiting there

He gave her a look, she tried to hide between the cushions. Soon he tugged her out, holding the large boxer like a lap dog. His body screamed for sleep, the stress of the last week finally falling on him. He gave into the darkness, weakly petting the too-big dog.


	8. Sandor, Now a Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world seemed too peaceful, he thought. Surely the glass was going to shatter soon and scar them both again. He’d still not heard from Gregor, still heard nothing from the Lannisters. He’d not paid enough attention to see what damage he’d done to the golden cunt, but he was sure it was enough to send him squalling to his mother like the baby he was.

Sweet Pea was curled up beside her when she woke up. Sansa scratched behind the dog’s ear, seeing small scars around her neck, bigger ones on her muzzle. 

Another rescue, Sansa thought. He must of pulled her from a fight too.

She heard music from downstairs, she sat up and Sweet Pea jumped excitedly from the bed, wagging her stunted tail at the foot of the bed, giving one loud bark.

“Sweet Pea, hush!” Gita hissed from below.

Sansa stood up, looking over the railing of the lost. Gita was sitting at the kitchen counter, a book open before her. She looked up, smiling warmly at Sansa. “I have coffee ready.”

Sansa nodded to her, heading for the stairs. “What time is it?” She asked sleepily.

“Pretty early actually.” Gita was pouring a mug of coffee for her already. “You just missed Sandor.”

Sansa looked down then back up. “Too bad.”

Gita held out the steaming mug. “I brought over some more of my clothes if you feel like a change.” She motioned to the canvas bag on the counter. “I also went out and bought some underwear.” She said with a shrug. “I figured mine would be too big.”

“Thank you,” Sansa answered softly.

“I’ll make breakfast now that you’re awake.” Gita went to the fridge and began her routine. “I also brought some books in case you wanted to read.”

Sansa shrugged. “I don’t really read much.”

“After I feed you I have to go about and run errands.” Gita pushed a stay lock of hair from her face. “Will you need anything while I’m gone? Need me to stop by your place?”

“Maybe,” Sansa replied. 

“Just let me know.” She motioned to the canvas bag again. “Sandor brought your purse in too.”

Sansa moved, going to her purse and pulling out her keys then her phone. It was dead, and she was grateful for that. She really didn’t want to look at it anyways. She shoved it back into the farthest corner of her purse and pushed that aside.

“I brought my record player up too. It players records and Cds so feel free to rummage through the music I brought too. Sandor has some as well by the television.” She pulled down a plate from the cupboard. “I left my things in the bathroom for you as well.” Gita served her up breakfast. She then pointed to the pale yellow phone hanging on the wall. “I wrote my number down on the pad there. As well as Sandor’s and Aisha’s. Call us if you need anything at all.”

Sansa smiled at her. “Thanks, Gita.”

Gita’s heart broke a little again. “You’re so very welcome, little mermaid.” She patted Sansa’s hand tenderly. She gathered her bag and left, clunking down the stairs outside.

Sansa poked and picked at her food, not that it wasn’t delicious, her mind was just elsewhere. Sweet Pea whimpered at her leg, licking her ankle and toes then standing and going too the sofa, laying down.

Sansa spent most of the day laying on the couch with Sweet Pea listening to records. Most of the songs were older than her, gentle ballads about lost love and regretted pasts. 

She took a painkiller around noon and decided a bath too might help her aching bones. As she stood stripped in the bathroom she looked at herself in the mirror. She rubbed her hands down her ribs, black and blue and purple and green. Her knees were red and swollen, large welts on her thigh. 

She turned away painful tears dripping down her cheeks, painful swells beating in her chest. She felt a if they were choking her. She got into the tub, curling up in the corner, knees to her chest, forehead to her knees. 

The painkiller kicked in soon, the sore in her chest easing away, the tears drying. 

She washed her face, using Sandor’s soap. She wanted to smell him, remember the comfort he brought her. He had saved her, ripped her away from the world she had promised she would never belong to.

She wondered if her parents knew, wondered if they had heard their eldest daughter had been beaten to a pulp and rescued by a stranger. She didn’t want to think about them. Didn’t want to imagine her father’s face.

She rose from the tub, reaching out and finding a robe. His robe. She wore it, going back out and finishing her cold breakfast and contemplated snuggling back onto the sofa with Sweet Pea. Instead, curiosity gripped her.

She wandered around the apartment, looking over all of Sandor’s things. His books and music, rummaging through the clothes in his chest of drawers. His things were basic, had had very little decoration. But the place was warm and comfortable, it was something easy. She could see how this would be his hide away from the world, from Gregor and the neon lights of the Dog House. 

She went to the stairs, going down and seeing his workshop. The smell of wood surrounded her, comforting her. She walked down, wood shavings and dust sticking to her bare feet. Large chunks of wood were laid in corners, several planks laying on the floor, sanded and varnished. A huge log was in the center of the room, tools laid upon it. He had several work benches ands tools, all with different projects on them. On one was a chain circle, all the links interlocked, no sign of a place where they connected. It was just this infinite circle. 

She picked it up, running her fingers over it. It was smooth and cool, each link almost perfect. 

She looked over all his tools, chisels and knives, a few chainsaws of various sizes. She admired the giant bear leering in the corner, all rough and snarling, splinters sticking out everywhere to look like matted fur.

As she was making faces at it she heard footsteps above. Gita had told her Sandor was protective of his workshop so she quickly moved to the stairs, when she did, the door opened and he stood at the top.

“Finding you way around the place?” He asked.

Sansa blushed, biting her lip. 

“It’s alright.” He said, trying to smile kindly. “I don’t mind you being down here.” He stepped aside to let her up. He said nothing about her wearing his robe, only admired her. 

“Gita said you had work,” Sansa started.

“I did,” Sandor shrugged as he closed the door behind them, Sansa leading the way back into the apartment, trailing wood shavings behind her. “I left. Told them to call me if they needed me.”

She looked back at him, tugging the robe closer around her. She grabbed the canvas bag Gita had brought. “I’ll go change.” She said, darting back into the bathroom.

The world seemed too peaceful, he thought. Surely the glass was going to shatter soon and scar them both again. He’d still not heard from Gregor, still heard nothing from the Lannisters. He’d not paid enough attention to see what damage he’d done to the golden cunt, but he was sure it was enough to send him squalling to his mother like the baby he was.

Sansa stepped back out, in a new shirt and comfortable pants. She moved silently back into the kitchen where Sandor stood. “Thank you,” she said, voice soft.

He looked over her, eyes meeting hers. “I had to do something.”

“You always do…for me.” Sansa wanted to reach out to him, hold him. “You’ve saved me so many times and I’ve just done…”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me.” Sandor said shaking his head. “I’m just glad to see you smile.”

She did, then, as he spoke. She nodded silently.

“I’ll order us a pizza.” Sandor said suddenly, turning to the phone.

Sansa went back into the living room, sitting over the record player. She flipped through albums, deciding upon one and playing it. She hadn’t ever played a record before, but she had seen movie where they did and had a small inkling as to how to use the record player. The needle sat down on the vinyl and soft crackles greeted her ears.

“Gita?” Sandor asked, sitting upon the sofa, Sweet Pea curling around his feet.

Sansa nodded, going and sitting beside him, pulling her knees up to her chest, tying herself up in a knot.

He looked her over, seeing the bruises on her arms. “How are you feeling?”

“It depends.” Her voice a rasp. “I took a painkiller earlier.” She then shook her head. “I don’t really want to take anything. I don’t like medications like that.”

He nodded, watching her and for any signs that gave her away.

“I feel safe here.” Sansa looked to his eyes. “I like Gita…and I just feel protected here.”

He wanted to hold her, give her more reasons to feel safe. “Good. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”

She began to come out of her knot, slowly easing her legs down. “I won’t be a bother?” She asked,

“You don’t take up any room.” Sandor tried smiling again. “I don’t use that bed anyways, so I’m glad it’s getting used.”

She uncrossed her arms.

He swallowed, grafted side of his face twitching. “It’s nice…having someone to look forward to coming home too.”

“What about Gita?” Sansa asked.

“She’s not…it’s different.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Gita is help, she’s like family. I know she’s here.” He looked down. 

Sansa leaned towards him.

“Sorry I don’t have much here.” He changed subject quickly. “Just TV and whatever Gita sends.”

“TV is fine.” Sansa answered. “I’m normally glued to my laptop.” She scratched her knee. “I’ve been enjoying just the music though.” She then reached down and rubbed Sweet Pea’s head. “I’ve been enjoying her as well. She’s good company.”

Sandor smiled. “Aye, Sweet Pea is a good dog.”

“Rescue?” She asked.

“She was one of Gregor’s fighters,” he answered, voice a low growl. “She was too timid, so he was just going to let her get slaughtered.”

Sansa’s eyes grew wide.

“I saved her, most of the others too.” He said with a nervous shrug. “I took her because she cried if anyone else tried to touch her.”

Sansa smiled, hand reaching out and rubbing his bent knee. 

“Little bird-” he began as the doorbell rang. He stood, moving away from her warm palm. “That would be dinner.”

As he left, Sweet Pea jumped up, curling in the warm spot Sandor left. 

“Down,” Sandor tried to growl at her, but she just wagged her stubby tail and looked up at him with big, brown eyes.

“You can sit beside me.” Sansa said, scooting to the center of the sofa.

Sandor grimaced a bit, but took the seat, laying the pizza open on the coffee table. He took out a slice in a napkin and held it to her.

“Thank you, sir.” She said with a chipper voice.

He smiled, glad to hear some of the old her shining through.

They ate in silence, both wanting to start a conversation but not having the guts to. That was until Sansa burped.

He looked at her, a little concerned and then he laughed. To which, Sansa also replied with a laugh.

“Not very ladylike are you?” Sandor nudged.

“I have four brothers. I didn’t learn what manners were until I could escape them.” She giggled, not noticing their knees touching. 

“Four?” Sandor’s thick brows arched.

She nodded, smiling. “Four brothers and a sister. Well, Arya was never girly anyways so it might as well of been five brothers.”

“Still,” Sandor reached for another slice. “Big family.”

She shrugged, nodding a bit. “It was suffocating.” She swallowed. “Was. It got lonely real quick.”

He looked at her and she looked at him, a smile crossing her face. She reached up, batting away a string of cheese from his stubble. She recalled how her mother used to have to pick food from her father’s beard all the time.

Red run up his neck and to the tips of his ears. “Thank you,” he muttered.

“It’s cute.” She said bashfully, wiping the cheese on a napkin.

The record ending, warm crackles and pops filling the room.

“I like that sound.” Sandor spoke quietly.

She nodded in reply. “I do to.” 

He stood again, going and putting on another record. “This is one of my favorites.” He said to her. He showed her the album sleeve as he put the vinyl in to play.

“Bob Dylan,” She said, fingers tracing across dust. The cover simple, a large block of purple and then the artist on the side. “Blood on the Tracks.”

“Damn good album,” Sandor started nervously. 

“I’ve never listened to Bob Dylan before.” She said, handing him back the cover. “I don’t really listen to old stuff.”

“Old stuff?” Sandor laughed.

She smiled back bashfully. “Damn kids these days.”

He turned the volume down a bit, correcting the bass and settings. “Damn Gita doesn’t know a thing.” He came back to the couch, putting his arm around the back as the music crackled to life.

Sansa sat with her knees hugged to her chest, feeling his warmth on her.

Ever so carefully, Sandor put his arm around her, hugging across her back and petting her shoulder.

She eased, shoulders falling. Slowly, she curled against him, laying her head on his shoulder. 

Please, tell me time has stopped, Sandor thought. 

Sansa nuzzled against his chest, remembering for a brief moment, amongst the horror that had occurred a century ago, how he had held her like she was the most precious creature in the world. Like she was a wounded bird, so frail and perfect. She remembered clinging to him, the world drowning her and he was her air.

She fell asleep there, and before he did the same Sandor picked her up. Her hand still clung to his shirt. He carted her up to the bed, laying her down gently, spreading out her red hair across the white sheets. He tucked her in, petting her hair.

“Sweet dreams, little bird.” He knelt, placing a nervous kiss on her temple.


	9. Sansa, Vanilla and Lemon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa sat a mug of steaming coffee before him. “Cream or sugar?” She asked.
> 
> “Neither,” he took the cup, blowing the steam away and then downing it.
> 
> He mug was nearly white, probably all sugar too. She sipped it gently then grabbed up the spatula and flipped the omelet in half.

Her body was frail porcelain. Ivory white. Held together by bones of steel. Calloused fingers ran up her bare legs, pressing dimples into her soft thighs. She sighed, exhaling at his touch, fingers seeking his out, bringing them to her breasts. He massaged his hands into her, breath shuddering. 

It seemed unreal, seeing her laid out before him like some sort of meal. Her legs hitched up, thighs pinched together. He sat beside her, large palm covering her stomach, feeling her flutter. 

Red lips parted, whispering his name. He silenced her, a hard kiss claiming her gentle mouth. He towered over her, feeling more beast than man. He hovered over her, caging her in like a bird.

She clawed at his chest, soft whimpers and gentle moans urging him on. Her heat pressing to his, begging for relief. Her eyes met his, lips parting again. He hoped she said his name.

“Oh shit!”

His eyes snapped open, sitting up groggily, still trying to shake off his dream. Rubbing his eyes he looked into the kitchen, seeing Sansa standing over the stove.

“Shit?” He growled, throwing his legs off the side of the sofa. He groaned at himself, seeing his pajama bottoms tented by his morning wood.

Sansa looked up, eyes wide, cheeks blushing. “I dropped an egg.”

He stood up. “Nothing Sweet Pea can’t handle.” He arched his back, cracking it, he then twist at the waist, popping it one more time. “Where is she?” He looked down, making sure his hard-on was in check.

Sansa pointed up too the loft. “She was sleeping on the bed.” 

Sandor whistled, and from above they could hear the dog thud off the bed, scramble around on the food then come clattering down the stairs, head back, ears in the breeze, tongue lolling.

“Here girl, mess.” Sansa beckoned, pointing to the dropped egg on the floor, which Sweet Pea lapped up happily.

Sandor chuckled, sitting at the counter, watching Sansa mix eggs and what looked like salsa in a pan. “What’s that slop?”

She eyes him, smirking. “It’s an omelet.”

His laugh was hoarse. “Never seen anything that resembled an omelet look like that.” He teased.

“Well it is!” Sansa snapped, pointing a finger at him. “You’re gonna be sorry when you taste how good it is.”

He crossed his arms on the counter, leaning down on them, hiding his morning wood from her at all cost. He watched her, slender hands shuffling the skillet over the eye. He bruises had healed nicely. Most of the one’s on her arms were nearly gone. Her black eye a soft shadow of purple. Her lip was still swollen, but the cut was rather large and needed stitch on the inside.

She seemed in better spirits, teasing with him, making him breakfast, a warm smile in her eyes.

He tried to shake his dream off, forget how her figure looked splayed out bare on a wolf pelt.

Sansa sat a mug of steaming coffee before him. “Cream or sugar?” She asked.

“Neither,” he took the cup, blowing the steam away and then downing it.

He mug was nearly white, probably all sugar too. She sipped it gently then grabbed up the spatula and flipped the omelet in half.

Sweet Pea sat panting at her leg, licking the bare skin she showed and drooling a puddle by her feet.

“No work today?” She asked looking over at him, rummaging through an old newspaper.

He shook his head, looking over the arrest reports. “No…no.” He swallowed hard, throat suddenly dry. “Not till tonight.” 

Meryn, Joffery’s bodyguard, the one he had to beat bloody, was in the paper staring at him. Arrested for assaulting his employer, Joffery Lannister. Eyewitness and uncle to the victim, Tyrion Lannister, had watched as Meryn assaulted his nephew for refusing to pay.

“What’s the matter?” Sansa asked, titling her head towards him.

He shut the paper. “Nothing.” He rolled it up and tossed it into the garbage. “Well, it doesn’t look like much, but what it is your making smells good.”

She smiled, pink tinting her cheeks. She slid the omelet onto a plate and handed it to him with a fork and a biscuit. 

He picked up the biscuit. “Did you make these?”

She shook her head. “From a can.” She said, pointing to the unrolled canister by the stove. She turned, pouring more of the mixture into the pan.

He dug in, the omelet a bit runny but it was good. There was cheese and salsa, a lazy man’s western omelet. She was a cook like most girls her age were cooks, just scraping barely enough information to know how to feed themselves. As he finished he stood up, finding the new cell phone he had bought the day before.

“Will you excuse me while I make a call?”

She shook her head. “Go ahead.” Her eyes followed him as he went through the doors to the basement, down to his workshop.

Sandor found it lucky he could remember his number at all, even more lucky when he answered.

“Tyrion,” he cleared his throat, rubbing his stubble covered jaw.

“Yes, who is this?”

“Sandor,” he answered. “Sandor Clegane?”

Tyrion laughed. “Yes, yes, I know who you are. To what do I owe the honor?”

“The arrest report-”

“Oh that? You can thank me later.”

Sandor furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand. How did you get him to go along with it?”

“All my nephew remembers, or is willing to say at least, is someone punching him in the face.” He could hear Tyrion moving around, a woman‘s soft moaning. “It was easy to get him to turn on Meryn, even easier to pay off all the others.”

“But what about Meryn?”

“The Lannisters word is gold.” Tyrion chuckled cryptically.

Sandor nodded. “Aye, it is known.”

Tyrion then hesitated. “And the girl?” He asked. 

Sandor sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s fine. Still healing.”

“Good. I did always like her.” He could hear Tyrion pouring something, a woman’s voice fussing at him in the background. “It is made of grapes, that is considered a healthy breakfast.” Tyrion said off the receiver. “Anyways, Sandor, I do hope I’ll see you at the club tonight?”

“If my brother doesn’t rip my throat out.” Sandor growled. 

“Oh, I don’t even think he’s knows your gone.” Tyrion replied darkly. “I actually haven’t seen him in a week.”

Sandor growled. “I wonder what that fucking Baelish has gotten him into now.”

“Trouble.” Tyrion answered. He then sighed as the woman’s voice grew louder. “I have to go.”

Sandor hung up, going back up stairs.

Sansa was feeding Sweet Pea, tossing bites into the air so the great dog would jump then land with a whumpf!

Sansa smiled up at him, rubbing Sweet Pea’s jowls. “Everything alright?”

“Oh yes,” he laughed. “Having fun?”

Sansa nodded, rubbing noses with the dog.

“I’ll need to walk her soon.” He said, putting his hand on the bathroom door. “I’ll get ready. So if you’d like to go with us…” His voice trailing off as he watched her.

Sansa nodded, smiling. “I’d like that. I need a good walk.”

Sandor nodded, silently moving into the bathroom.

The pipes groaned then hummed as the water came on. She could hear the hissing of the shower and him grumbling. She went back up to the loft, going through the clothes Gita had brought for her. She put on a simple sun dress, a aple mint color with creamy candy pink buttons. She then put on a little pastel flannel cover-all to hide the large bruises on her back.

She combed out her hair, tying it back at the nape of her neck. She touched the bruise on her eye, seeing it much more vividly than Sandor did. To her it was still this giant stain, like grape juice and coffee. She reached for her purse, applying some make-up in the hopes of covering it up. A bit of mascara to make her eyes pop. She hadn’t worn such light make-up in ages, not since she started working at the Dog House.

The bathroom door opened and she looked down off the loft, Sandor was in nothing but a towel. He rummaged through the hamper, pulling out some clothes. His shoulders were broad, arms and back flecked with scars, right arm shining with burns. His face was the only thing Gregor had paid for to receive grafts. The rest still scarred his body with deep shining ripples.

Sansa would never wish what happened to her on anyone, but she felt that what she had received was nothing compared to what Sandor had gone through. Almost burning alive is how Margarey put it. 

She went back downstairs when Sandor went into the bathroom again. She fetched Sweet Pea’s leash off the wall, preparing her for when Sandor came out. The dog happily leapt and bounded, panting loudly, tongue once again lolling out of her smile.

“Ready?”

She turned, smiling. “Yeah.”

“You look…nice.” He coughed, unsure of how to compliment her.

She smoothed her hand down the front of the dress. “It’s a little big.” She chuckled. “It’s Gita’s.”

He nodded, opening the door and letting her and Sweet Pea out first. 

The sun stung her eyes for a moment and she braced her hand on the railing, going down the stairs and then stepping onto the sidewalk.

Sandor took Sweet Pea’s leash from Sansa’s hand. “She’s awfully strong. Dunno how Gita wrangles her most of the time.”

Sansa smiled, enjoying just walking beside him, feeling even safe outside with him. When she heard some men laughing she reached out, grabbing his hand and squeezing his fingers tight.

He squeezed back. “You’re safe.” He whispered.

Sansa nodded, grip never faltering.

They walked Sweet Pea along the beach, letting her splash around in the ocean and dig in the sand. 

“Want anything before we go home?” Sandor asked.

She shrugged, looking around. “I’m not hungry yet.” She saw an ice cream truck and pointed. “How about a cone?”

He smirked. “Alright.” He tied Sweet Pea to a picnic table. “Anything in particular?” He asked.

“Lemon sorbet.” She said with a smile.

He nodded, reaching into his pants for his wallet as he walked to the truck.

Sansa sat on the edge of the table, dangling her legs off and trying to not expect something to come around every corner. He’d be right back, she told herself, she’d be safe and warm again.

Sandor came back, a cup of her lemon sorbet in one hand, a vanilla cone in the other. She stood up, taking it from his hands. “Vanilla?” She asked as he sat down.

“Chocolate upsets my stomach.” He growled, licking.

She put a spoonful into her mouth then sat it down. She touched his cheek, kneeling down and went to press her lips to his.

He grabbed her wrist, softly but suddenly. “You don’t have to do this, little bird.”

She opened her eyes, fingers tensing on his cheek. She nodded. “But I want to.” She went again, pressing a soft kiss to his lip. She could taste the vanilla, he could taste the lemon.


	10. Sansa, The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thunder crashed and Sansa woke up with a start. She sat up, rubbing her eyes and checking the clock for the time. 
> 
> “What?” She scowled at it, picking it up and shaking it. “How the fuck is it noon?” She jumped out of bed, running downstairs and getting her phone. She hadn’t looked at it in a few days and when she plugged it in to charge and beeped and flashed constantly with all the texts and messages she had missed. But finally, she was able to get to the time.
> 
> Noon.
> 
> She looked around, surely he would have been home by now. Did he ever call last night?

He woke to the hiss of the static on the TV screen. He stretched some, afraid to move too much and wake her. She had her arms around him, cheek laid on his chest. He pet her hair gently, then caught sight of his watch.

“Fuck me,” he huffed. He’d have to be at work soon, and he really didn’t want to be. He had to be at the Dog House, the last place on earth he wanted to go, Gregor or no Gregor.

Sansa stirred, her arms tightening slightly and her head moving up. “What time is it?” She purred sleepily.

He looked back down at her and smiled. “Time for me to go.”

She pouted. “Oh.” She curled back up against him, holding him tighter and planting a kiss on his neck.

“I have to make sure the place hasn’t fallen to pieces.” He sighed, pushing her back reluctantly. “Apparently my brother hasn’t been into the place in a week.” He stood, rubbing his face.

Sansa pulled her knees up to her chest. “He doesn’t even do anything. Baelish does all the work.”

Sandor laughed at this. “You may be right. But my brother is needed for things, and he also can’t be trusted with over half of them.” He pulled on a black jacket.

Sansa fidgeted nervously. “They…they won’t hurt you will they?” She asked, looking up concerned at him.

He looked back at her, meeting her worried gaze. He shook his head. “No. No they won’t. I’ll be fine,” he went back over to her, kissing the top of her head.

She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down, kissing him. “I’ll stay up.” She said, touching the grafted side of his face, the corner of his mouth twitching with it. “Call me, alright?” She asked.

He smiled unsurely. “Get some sleep.”

“I’m used to staying up all night.” She met his smile with a knowing grin. “I want to make sure you survive the night. So call me often.”

He rubbed the back of her neck then stooped, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her up to the loft, tossing her down on the bed. “I’ll call.” He laughed as he went back down the stairs.

Sansa curled up on the mattress, smiling happily to herself. “Have a good day at work.” She called to him, the door closing a moment later.

She rolled onto her back, looking out the window on the ceiling, the sky was a faded gray and covered in clouds, stars and moon just barely able to peek out. A few splatters of rain began hitting the window.

She pouted, thinking about Sandor out in the rain, like a poor kicked dog sitting outside the door, waiting on someone to come out and offer him some hint of kindness. She giggled, thinking about how she could greet him when he got home. She could wear an apron and nothing else, making him breakfast. She could make a bath for them both. She rolled onto her side, closing her eyes and listening to the rain. She wondered if Sandor would want that, she knew she did, she had often fantasized about the grumpy, muscular bodyguard. She sighed, the rain slowly putting her back to sleep, curled up on the bed, safe and warm and dreaming of her knight.

 

Thunder crashed and Sansa woke up with a start. She sat up, rubbing her eyes and checking the clock for the time. 

“What?” She scowled at it, picking it up and shaking it. “How the fuck is it noon?” She jumped out of bed, running downstairs and getting her phone. She hadn’t looked at it in a few days and when she plugged it in to charge and beeped and flashed constantly with all the texts and messages she had missed. But finally, she was able to get to the time.

Noon.

She looked around, surely he would have been home by now. Did he ever call last night?

She called him, picking her phone back up and dialing the number on the pad Gita had left. 

No answer.

She cursed to herself quietly then called again.

Still nothing.

She called Gita, who answered. She hadn’t heard from Sandor either, but she was on her way up and she’d call Dogwood for her to see if he had gone to work there.

She paced nervously, waiting on Gita to come in and give her the news. Her mind raced with all the possible worst case scenarios that would of happened, and as she did she remembered the night Joffery had her beaten.

She began to feel panicked, surrounded and consumed. She started to sob and she collapsed on the kitchen floor, shaking and wheezing, clutching at her chest, then gripping at her hair, covering her head. She rocked back and forth sobbing and gasping.

“Sansa!” Gita raced in, falling down beside her and gripping her up in her arms. She stroked her head, tried to unclench her fingers tangled tight and pulling at her hair.

“Sansa,” Gita cooed. “Sansa baby, it’s ok.”

Sansa clung to her, wrapping her arms around her tightly and sobbing against her shoulder.

Gita stroked her back. “Oh honey, it’s alright. Hush now, it’s alright.” 

Sansa slowly began to relax, still hugging tightly to Gita. “I got…I got scared and…worried…and…” She hiccupped.

Gita wiped Sansa’s face with the hem of her shirt. “I know.” She pet her back and hair. “I know, baby.” She eased Sansa up and led her to the sofa.

“Did…did you?” Sansa whimpered, shaking still.

Gita’s eyes widened a bit, worried and sympathetic. “No.” She shook her head.

Sansa started to cry again.

“Oh, honey, don’t.” Gita pulled her back into her arms, rocking her. “I’m sure he’s at the Dog House.” She cooed. “Gregor has probably fucked a lot of shit up. Gotten into some new drug. Nearly killed another groupie.”

Sansa sniffled.

“I never told you the story about how Sandor and I met.” She pet Sansa’s cheek gently. “You see, before I met Sandor, I was quite the little party girl.” She started. “I got into the wrong crowd which led me to Gregor’s circle.”

Sansa looked up at her.

“I got in too deep.” Gita sighed. “I was…well…one of Gregor’s girls to put it gently.” She laughed, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I stayed because I thought I needed him, thought I needed the drugs.” She shook her head. “That’s the mindset of an addict though. I was too scared to run away, get real help.”

“And Sandor?”

Gita nodded gently, brushing the damp hair from Sansa’s cheeks. “I was sent to work at the Dogwood, just another drug addicted secretary.” She wiped at her eyes again, tearing up. “One day, I had this huge black eye and broken nose. Obvious to everyone what had happened to me but no one said a word.” She shrugged.

“But Sandor, well, he’d never been one to stand idly by for too long, especially when his brother was involved. So, he asked me if I wanted help. I said yes and he took me here.”

“He did that for you?”

“Same as you.” Gita smiled. “He helped me get clean, helped me get on my feet by giving me the apartment downstairs, introduced me to Aisha, he saved my life from the drugs and from Gregor.” Gita laced her fingers with Sansa’s squeezing her hand lovingly. “But,” she started again. “That wasn’t where I met him.”

Sansa squeezed her hand back.

“I had tried getting clean once, just before I had met Gregor.” Gita’s voice was soft and nostalgic. “I was eighteen,” She said, “and I decided to try and save myself by going to some NA and AA meetings.”

Sansa furrowed her brow.

“I met Sandor at the recovery center.” Gita shook her head. “But that’s a story he’ll have to tell you.”

“Sandor was into drugs?” Sansa balked.

Gita shook her head again, chuckling softly. “Oh no no.” She clicked her tongue. “No, I don’t think he ever has. At least none that required a lighter.” She sighed. “No, it was AA e was attending.”

Sansa hugged close to Gita, closing her eyes.

“But I owe my life to Sandor. He paid off my debt to Gregor and then gave me a job, a home, the love of my life,” she smiled, squeezing Sansa tight. “That’s what really helped me to survive, Aisha.”

Sansa drifted off again, her panic attack having drained her of everything she had. Gita stayed beside her, stroking her back and hair, rocking her like a mother would her child.

When Sansa woke though, Gita and Aisha were whispering in the kitchen. Gita cooking a meal, Aisha watching her with a concerned look on her face. 

There was still no Sandor.

“I looked everywhere.” Aisha whispered. “I went to Dogswood, to the Dog House, I even went to the liquor store. Nothing.”

“This just isn’t like him.” Gita shook her head. “I don’t understand where he could possibly be.”

“You said you called the hospitals?”

Sansa seized up, insides going cold.

“I did.” Gita snapped softly. “Not even a John Doe.”

That didn’t make Sansa feel any better.

“This is killing me.” Aisha picked up her keys again. “I’m going to go looking around again.”

“Be safe,” Gita cupped her cheeks and kissed her.

Sansa rose as Aisha left. She went to her phone, deciding in a last ditch effort to call someone she figured wouldn’t want to talk to her.

Gita watched her curiously as she grabbed her phone.

She dialed the number, waiting anxiously for the other end to answer.

“Hello?”

“Tyrion,” Sansa breathed. “Uhm…I don’t know if you know who I am but uhmm…” She fidgted nervously. “This is Sansa Stark, I used to dance at the club.”

“Oh yes, Sansa, the most beautiful cage dancer.” Tyrion felt a little uneasy all of a sudden. “How can I help you?”

“Sandor hasn’t been home since yesterday.” Sansa swallowed. “None of us can reach him. He hasn’t been to his other job and…and I don’t know if you can help me.”

Tyrion sighed. “That is strange.” He murmured. “I wasn’t at the club last night, haven’t been since Joffrey got his face punched in.”

Sansa gulped, nervously waiting.

“Hadn’t you heard?” Tyrion started. “His own bodyguard turned on him. Quite shocking. More poor, poor nephew.” He said with mock woe.

Sansa’s eyes widened. “What? But I thought…how?”

“Amazing what a traumatized little boy will remember if you force him to.” Tyrion chuckled.

Sansa shook her head. “I hadn’t heard.”

“Hmm, well, I supposed he wouldn’t want to worry you.” Tyrion replied. “But, I feel like just because someone did something good, they shouldn’t have to be punished. I feel no guilt towards my nephew. I do feel guilty I hadn’t done more for you.”

“No, no.” Sansa shook her head. “It’s fine really.”

Tyrion chuckled softly. “I’ll see if I can find Sandor. Don’t worry, Sansa. Gregor isn’t that smart.”

“Thank you.” Sansa whispered.

“Anything for a pretty girl.” Tyrion said before he hung up.

Sansa sat her phone down, looking up at Gita.

“Who was that?” Gita asked.

“Tyrion Lannister.”

Gita furrowed her brow then nodded. “So?”

“He’s going to try and look for Sandor. He said he wasn’t at the Dog House last night but he’ll see what he can do.”

“That’s good.” Gita said with a nod. “Hungry?”

Sansa nodded, but when she was served her food she picked at her, stomach nervous and tied into knots. But she knew she needed to eat, to get something into her system. She needed energy, it was going to be a long dark night.

Aisha came back later, and Gita kept strong coffee brewing. Aisha sat beside Sansa, strong arm around her shoulders, telling her bad jokes and funny stores to keep her spirits up and her smile from fading.

Sansa had her phone, scrolling through al her messages. None seemed all that important, by now all the dancers at the Dog House knew what had happened to her.

That’s when she came across it, a text message from her sister. She hadn’t spoken to any of her family in months. She replied back to Arya, something quick and sweet. It was from three days ago. Hopefully Arya wasn’t too pissed.

In the morning the door opened.

Aisha and Gita stood up, expectant.

Tyrion walked in and Sansa stood. He looked at the girls, a look on his face, he looked pained yet relieved. The door shuddered, another form coming in carrying another.

Sansa rushed forward, pushing passed Gita.

Braunn trudged in, Sandor braced against him. “Where can I take this?” Braunn asked with a teasing smile.

“My god.” Gita gasped. “Uhm, this way, the sofa here.” She instructed quickly. “Aisha, help him, I’m getting the first aid kit!” She quickly rushed out the door.

Aisha went, taking the other side of Sandor and helping Braunn carry him and place him on the sofa.

Sansa looked to Tyrion then rushed to his side, falling by the sofa and petting his hand. “What happened?”

Sandor looked at her, face bloddied and beat, graft torn, nose crooked, eyes swollen shut. “I tried to help my brother.” His voice sounded gravelly and sore.

“Found him in his brother’s office.” Tyrion answered. 

Sansa looked to him, rubbing Sandor’s hand gently. “Gregor did this?” She whimpered.

Tyrion nodded. “I tried to take Sandor to the hospital, but he wanted to come here. Wouldn’t budge on that.”

Aisha rushed over, bringing Sandor a cup of water.

“Where’s Gregor?” Sansa asked.

Tyrion looked to Sandor and then down at his hands.

“Dead.” Sandor answered.


	11. Sandor, Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She shook her head. “Shut up you fool.” She forced a smile for him, brushing her fingers along his face, all bruised and purple and swollen. “Does it give you joy to scare people?” A whimper of a laugh escaping.
> 
> He raised his hand to her face again, rubbing his thumb across her lips, puffy from crying. “Apparently…” he managed to cough out. “It gives me joy to kill people.”

Tyrion was on his phone, leaning up against the counter. His face was like stone, serious and unmoving. His tone was dark, nothing like the voice he used when on the radio. He paced every so often, hand that wasn’t holding the phone clenching and unclenching. 

Gregor was dead. 

It still didn’t seem right. Still seemed wholly impossible that a man like Gregor Clegane could be killed. And the only suspect? His brother. No. Sandor couldn’t do such a thing could he? Would he?

His bloodied head lay in Sansa’s lap. Gita doctoring it with the utmost care. Anytime she mentioned a hospital Sandor barked and snarled at her. Sansa squeezed his hand, petting his matted hair, caked and crackling with dried blood.

Bronn came back in, having gone somewhere on Tyrion’s silent command. 

Tyrion shut his phone and watched him. “Well?”

Bronn shrugged, slumping in one of the chairs. “Taken care of.”

Aisha looked up, chewing on what remained of her thumbnail. “What is?” She asked urgently. “Did you dissolve Grgeor’s body or something?”

“Shut the fuck up!” Sandor roared at her, voice gurgling a bit.

“Please stop,” Sansa whimpered to him. “Stop.”

Bronn smirked at Aisha, chuckling. “I couldn’t move a body like that by myself if I tried.” He shook his head and looked over at Tyrion. “Sandor wasn’t the only one in the room with Gregor.”

Sansa perked up, looking hopefully at Bronn and Tyrion. Her mouthed open, voice crackling a bit, throw sore and dry. 

“Petyr Baelish,” Tyrion answered. “Gregor had beaten the absolute shit out of him.” He suppressed an awkward smile and laugh. “Figuratively and literally.”

“Baelish?” Gita asked, finally setting a cold press to Sandor’s face, finished with her cleaning and minor stitching. 

“Half dead.” Tyrion said with a nod. “Apparently got too far into Gregor’s business.”

“Was the drugs.” Sandor grumbled, gored hand pressing on the ice pack, sighing at the sharp, prickly pain it caused. “Bath salts.”

“Fuck me.” Gita exclaimed. “Is that what he was into now?”

Tyrion shrugged, looking over Gita, pondering how he recognized her. “Sandor is the only one who knows what happened in there and he isn’t talking.”

“I’m the one the cops will want.” Sandor groaned. “They don’t need to know anything about you.” He twisted in Sansa’s lap, everything hurt. His body, his mind, his pride, he’d never been fond of Gregor, in fact he was sure he hated his brother. But Gregor was his brother and now he was dead, and Sandor was sure he had done nothing to hinder that.

Surely there was a special place in hell for him now.

“The hospital thinks I called them, so for all anyone knows I was the only one on scene.” He swallowed, blood filling his mouth. “And who knows when Littlefinger will be able to talk again, if ever.”

Sansa let out a chocked sob.

“Stop your fucking crying.” He moaned, hand reaching up and rubbing her cheek.  
“But Sandor-” Gita hesitated, shifting in place. Aisha came and put her arms around her, resting her cheek to her shoulder. “Sandor, tell us…did you kill Gregor?”

Sandor remained quiet and still.

“Sandor,” Sansa urged.

He rubbed his fingers against the warm tears on her cheek, feeling more spill down to wash his fingers. 

“I sure as hell didn’t stop it.” He muttered, voice low and breaking.

“Overdose?” Gita asked expectantly.

Sandor sighed, breathing. “I’m just tired. Can’t you all just leave me the fuck alone?” He snarled low, voice hoare. “Ain’t I earned that?”

Gita looked to Tyrion and swallowed. “We can go downstairs to my place.” She told him. “Lets leave him be.”

As they all began filing out the door Tyrion stopped and approached Sansa. “Will you be all right?” He asked her, sincerely and with a gentle voice.

She looked at him and nodded. “Yes.”

He looked down at Sandor then back at her. “I’m sorry,” he replied, shaking his head. He went as if to say more nut stopped. He cleared his throat and stood erect, nodding to her. “Just call and I’ll do all I can for you.” His eyes flicked to Sandor for a moment. “For both of you.”

She nodded, sniffling. “Thank you.”

“Leave, Imp.” Sandor commanded.

Tyrion smiled reassuringly to Sansa then left, closing the door behind him. The world quiet save for the rain and thunder. The heaven’s had opened up, it seemed, flooding and washing away all that had been before Gregor. There was only after now. And if anything, this was the calm before the storm. The real storm on the horizon, waiting, lurking.

Sandor sighed, shifting, pushing himself up. Sansa held him fast, forcing him to stay down.

“Stay down,” she commanded, voice soft as a feather. “Just stay down.”

He sighed, pushing the ice pack away, her face coming in blurry and red in his vision. “Sansa-” His voice faltered, breaking and silencing for a moment. “I’m sorr-”

She shook her head. “Shut up you fool.” She forced a smile for him, brushing her fingers along his face, all bruised and purple and swollen. “Does it give you joy to scare people?” A whimper of a laugh escaping.

He raised his hand to her face again, rubbing his thumb across her lips, puffy from crying. “Apparently…” he managed to cough out. “It gives me joy to kill people.”  
Sansa doubled over, forehead resting on his chest gently, afraid to hurt him. He could have broken ribs or worse and wasn’t saying anything about it.

“That’s not funny.” She began to sob. “Please…that’s not funny at all.”

He put his hand on her back. “Stop your fucking crying.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry…” she blubbered. “I can’t.”

He took a deep breath, resting his eyes a moment while she soaked his chest with well deserved tears. It was a better noise than the last one he had passed out to. 

The sound of Gregor dying. The sound of him gurgling and chocking, drowning on his own vomit as he overdosed on those fucking bath salts.

He could’ve saved his brother, got up and rolled him over, prevented him from drowning. But he didn’t, he just laid there and stared up at the ceiling listening. He could feign innocence, say that he had blacked out from the pain, from the pulping Gregor had given to him, say he had no idea his brother was dying just a few inches away from him. But no, he had let it happen. He had let Gregor die in his own filth.

And he wasn’t sorry.

He was glad even, happy that Gregor was dead. No more Dog House, no more abuse, no more having to cover his own ass.

He was gone. The mountain was gone.

He sighed, relieved. Now able to think on the freedom of it. It washed over him, cool and sweet. 

He could finally leave, focus on Dogwood and his carving. He could focus on Sansa, begin a life not built around his brother and his family’s debt. He was free, unchained and ready to run.

 

He had gone up and along the catwalk to his brother’s office, expecting to find it trashed and empty. That happened about once a year. Gregor having gone into a rage and disappearing, returning with new bitches, new drugs, a whole new boat of problems. It was due time for this to happen again, although Sandor hoped to just find Gregor passed out on his desk, face on a mirror and white dust.

Expectations were exceeding, because when he opened the door he found a bloodied and broken Petyr Baelish, begging for life with what little voice his had left. Barely recognizable, save for the pen on his lapel.

Gregor was basically frothing, foaming, with blood and rage, high off the beating and pain he had inflcted upon Baelish. He was hungry, lusting, for another pool of blood to bathe in. 

And how lucky was it, his baby brother should walk in at the most perfect of times?

He was upon Sandor, dragging him in the bloodbath.

Gregor was never for this world, Sandor had thought once. He was not meant for the world of modern man. No. He would have been better suited for the world of gladiators or Vikings. Where he could go out, conquer, kill, beat, and bathe in the blood of his victims. Because, he would have no enemies, no. He would only have victims. In a world like that, no one would be foolish enough to face Gregor Clegane. In that world, he would have all he wanted, blood and death and pain, women would throw themselves at him, wanting to the be kept in the shadow of the greatest warrior ever seen.

Yes, that was the world meant for Gregor.

Not the one they inhabited now.

Just let him die, Sandor thought. Just the love of God, just take him now and give him that hell. Give him seven hells, because one will not hold him.

Sandor fought back with all he had, giving back to Gregor what Gregor gave to him. He’d not go down a squealing and crying dog again. He had had enough of being broken, of being beaten and chained. This was it, the final straw. Either one of them didn’t get up again, or neither of them did.

And Gregor knew this, sensed it even. Thick, meaty hands pressed around Sandor’s throat, squeezing, chocking, almost breaking. Sandor was on his knees, eyes bluging, fingers scratching and clawing Gregor’s flesh.

And then it happened.

Gregor fell.

He released Sandor and fell, hitting the ground with a sickening slap. Sandor rolled away, retching and gulping for hair, suffocating on the relief. Beyond him, Gregor was dying, the drugs everything moving too fast, too hard. His heart must have been bursting.

In a final attempt to save itself, the body retched up everything inside Gregor and, like so many rock stars before Gregor, he was on his back, drowning in his own sick. 

It would be almost a day later when Tyrion came in, finding them all dead and near death.

Tyrion insisted on a hospital, Bronn already having called. But Sandor was having none of that bullshit. He didn’t need a hospital, he needed her. Couldn’t they see that? What could a hospital do what she could in a second of being in her presence?

He didn’t have much time. The police would come for him like they always did. They’d come and take him away, stuff him into a cell until they could find a way to keep him there forever or find he was innocent. 

So he’d need to spend as much time as he had left with her. He’d not make her wait any longer than she had too. Because who knows? That could be it, all he was allowed to have. That one blissful day in the park, the one kiss, that one night sleeping beside her. That was fair, it would be less painful for her that way. If he was indeed locked away for killing his brother, she’d not wait on him. He’d make sure she didn’t waste her life.

“Go home,” he’d say. “Go to your family and tell them everything you’ve wanted to say. Go to your mother and cry on her shoulder. Go to you father and let his love wash over you. I am not worth it. I am only a Clegane, a dog. I have nothing you want.”

He woke, eyes sore but no longer swollen. It was still raining, still thundering. Flashes of lightening brightening the gray.

She was asleep, head back and against the sofa. Her hands cupping over his own on his chest.

He watched her, peaceful but troubled. 

I could’ve made it stop, he thought to himself. I could have gotten her and taken her away from all of that, saved her. If I’d been a real man, I could have avoided all of this, right?

He stirred, head rolling to her shoulder and then rolling back up, eyes opening wide to the clap of thunder.

Look at her, he continued, innocent as a kitten.

She looked down at him, smiling sincerely, bright as day. “Good morning.” He hand smoothed along his cheek. Skin cool and soft.

He nodded, just watching her.

“I didn’t want to fall asleep.” She continued to smile even though she sounded as if her whole body was breaking. “I was afraid if I did…I’d wake up and you would be-”

He put his hand over her mouth and sat up, body as sore as hell and creaking like an old door. He sat beside her, bringing her close and pressing his forehead to hers. His stiff fingers combed through her tangled hair, cool and smooth against his bruised skin.

“It’ll take more than that.” He croaked.

She kissed him, careful of his split lip and cut cheek.

He kissed back as much as he could, blood already pooling behind his lips again.

“Guess what…?” she whimpered. “We match now.” She sniffled, her bruises and wounds almost gone, but still there. 

He laughed. “A right old pair we are.” He cupped her cheek. “But that will never happen again.” He corrected her. “Never. It’s all over.”

She blinked tears from her eyes, nodding.

“All over.” He repeated, pressing into her, allowing her to protect and comfort him for once, crumbling almost. Relief and pain. Yes, it was all over, but he’d be torn away from her soon enough. 

Sansa pet his fingers, soft fingers trailing down his neck. “I’ll make us a big breakfast. A huge pot of coffee. Eggs. Bacon-” her voiced hitched and she swallowed, lips smacking. “Sausage too. I’ll even make pancakes…or waffles. It doesn’t matter which. I can even make some whipped cream for them. Gita bought heavy whipping cream and showed me how.” She chuckled, forcing words out, doing anything at all to push the nearing storm from her mind.

“Then for lunch…I’ll make sandwhiches. I can even order something. I have money. I can treat us to a nice, big pizza. Or Chinese food.” She swallowed again. “You-you like Chinese food right? I kind of prefer Japanese but it’s so…so expensive.” Voice wavering.

“Then for dinner…Gita got steaks…” she whimpered into his shoulder. “I’ll get them marinated and…”

He squeezed her close, hands pressing hard and deep into her back. “Just shut the fuck up, daft thing.” He croaked. “Shut up for once.”

She looped her arms around his head. “No, you shut up.”

He sighed, buried against her breast, inhaling her soft scent. Memorize now, old dog. Won’t be much longer.

“I have a movie I want to watch with you.” She whispered. “I think you’ll like it. I didn’t think I would…but when my sister made me go watch it with her…I loved it. So…I want you to see it too.”

He shook his head, burrowing deeper into her. “Sansa-”

There was a knocking on the door, it was time no doubt.

Sansa gripped onto him tighter. “No,” she cried.

Another knock.

He kissed her hair and sighed. “I’m so sorry, little bird.”

“No.” She repeated as the door opened.


	12. Sansa, Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nothing bad, nothing bad,” Bronn continued. “Just saying, you can’t judge by appearances what a person is like. You’d think Sandor was this…beast yes, like his brother.” He took another long drag. “But honestly? He’s a puppy compared to Gregor’s mountain troll.”
> 
> Sansa looked down.
> 
> “And you?” He chuckled. “Some daffy little redhead. But no. You’re quite strong, made of steel you are.” He nodded, smoke coming from his nose again. “You’d have to be to survive a day with that Lannister cunt.”

She had forgotten what it was like to dance. Well, at least how to felt to dance like she was taught. She had found her old dance shoes under her bed at her apartment, and after a few tries she was able to spin on the tips of her toes again. 

She had forgotten the pleasant ache in her toes. She had forgotten how elegant and proud she was of her abilities.

She went to her old dance studio, and lucky enough for her, her old teacher was there. It was exciting to be back there, to dance with the rest of the girls, to be of help to them.

“You know Sansa, I need a new instructor.” Shae, her teacher, replied. “For the beginners, the little girls.” She smiled brightly. “I could use a fine, young dancer like you. The old matrons aren’t patient enough to deal with the little ones anymore.”

Sansa beamed. “I’d love to!” She reached out hugging Shae tightly.

Shae pet her back, her smile waning. “Sansa, is something wrong?”

Sansa shrunk, pulling back a tucking a loose hair behind her ear. She nodded slightly. “Just some…personal things.”

Shae eyed her, knowing and wise. “Well, as your boss,” she said with a sly smirk, “you know you can always talk to me. But even more so, I’m your friend.”

Sansa looked over her and nodded, a small smile on her pink lips. “Yes. Thank you Shae.”

“Do you mind if I ask, where did you work before? I didn’t take you away from anything did I?”

Sansa shook her head, appreciating her tact and change of conversation. “Well, you’ll slap me for this, but I was a dancer at the Dog House.”

Shae slapped her arm. “You are classically trained! What the hell are you doing gogo dancing at a…cheap fascination like the Dog House?” She hissed.

Sansa laughed. “Youthful rebellion,” she said with a nod. “That’s my only response.”

Shae nodded, rubbing her chin. “And why did you quit?”

“Someone,” she hesitated, thinking about him and seeing him in a cage like he had seen her all that time. “Well, someone helped me.”

Shae crossed her legs and sighed, looking up at the sky. “Ah!” She smirked. “A boy.”

Sansa shook her head. “No, a man.”

Shae smiled, looking at her, smirking knowingly. “Oh! Well, congratulations.”

Sansa smiled sadly. “Yes,” she whispered.

Her phone began ringing. “Excuse me,” she murmured to Shae as she answered.  
“Sansa, it’s Tyrion.”

She nodded. “Yes,” she swallowed, nervous to hear the news. “Well, what have you heard?”

“Where are you?” He asked. “I’ve been to the house and Gita said you had gone out.”

Sansa fiddled with her duffle bag. “I went to my dance studio.” She answered.

“And where is that exactly?”

Sansa stiffened. “Why? What’s going on?” Shae eyed her expectantly. “Did something happen?”

Tyrion hummed. “Well, I’m not sure yet. All I know is that I got a call from the hospital regarding Baelish.”

Sansa’s eyes widened, frightened. “Oh…” She whimpered.

“Oh no, no, no sweetie.” He laughed. “He’s not dead or anything. Far from. He’s awake.”

Sansa felt as if she could melt.

“Talk too.”

Sansa gasped. “The studio is on South Street, next door to Apple Café.” She said quickly, hanging up her phone.

Shae eyed her, smirking. “What is going on?”

“I’ll explain later.” Sansa said, heading back inside from the back, walking through the studio towards the front.

“I can’t wait to hear the story.” Shae chuckled, following alongside her. “It will be good to have decent water cooler conversations again.”

Sansa chuckled, waiting out front for Tyrion’s car to pull up out front.

Shae sighed, thinking. “Wait, didn’t the Dog House just get closed?” She asked. “I read in the paper the owner was killed?”

Sansa shrugged.

“You Don’t have anything to do with that do you?” Shae chuckled in disbelief.

Sansa looked at her and shrugged again.

Shae snapped her hands to her hips. “Sansa,” she said warningly.

Tyrion’s car pulled up then, Tyrion stepping out from the back. “Good afternoon.” He said with a smile, eyes wandering over Shae.

She pointed at him. “This isn’t the man you were talking about was it?”

“Pardon?” Tyrion laughed.

Sansa shook her head. “No, no he’s a good friend.” She smiled. “Uhm, Shae this is Tyrion, Tyrion, this is Shae.”

Tyrion held out his hand. “Very nice to meet you.”

Shae took his hand, smirking at him. “I’m sure.”

Tyrion pulled back and opened the car door for Sansa. “We’ll have to meet again.”

“I’m sure you’d enjoy that.” Shae laughed, walking back into the studio.

“Sansa,” Tyrion said eagerly.

Sansa shook her head. “She’s my boss now.” She shrugged. “We’ll see.” She climbed into the car and sighed.

“Now to the jail.” Tyrion grunted as he leaned back into his seat, Bronn in the driver’s seat before them.

“So the police have questioned Baelish already?” Sansa asked.

Tyrion shrugged. “Not sure, that’s why we’re headed there now.”

Sansa bit her lip nervously. It had been to weeks. Two weeks of nothing. Two weeks that she had not seen Sandor. He had refused visitors for some reason or another. 

She fidgeted, twisting her fingers about, biting her lip, chewing her nails to nubs. Thank God her hair was up in a tight bun and braid or she’d be ripping her hair out.

Tyrion pat her knee. “It’s all right, Sansa.” He said, smiling reassuringly at her. 

“The autopsy should show Gregor died of overdose if Baelish refuses to speak.”

“But why would he refuse?” Sansa huffed. “What does he have to lose for holding his tongue for a dead man?” 

Tyrion chuckled. “Calm down. He doesn’t have any reason except his own interests.” He rubbed his chin. “I suspect, he was the one who got Gregor his new drug connection.”

Sansa clinched her teeth, fearful she’d never see Sandor again all because that little rat was looking out for his own ass.

 

She waited on a bench outside the police station while Tyrion tried to find out some information on the case.

Two weeks.

Surely that was more than enough time to find out that Gregor had died because of his own stupidity and greed. 

Sansa thought spitefully how stupid the cops were for holding Sandor this long. He was innocent! How could they do this? He had nothing to do with the drugs. He was just Gregor’s punching bag in all this.

She thought about Gita, who had yet to say a word on the matter. She had been lured into that world, been made into one of Gregor’s girls. Gregor had gotten her addicted, made her dependant, and he treated her like his own plaything to beat and use as he saw fit. Surely, Gita was happy he was gone. But she had not said anything, not even mentioned it at all.

Bronn stepped outside, lighting a cigarette and inhaling it. “May be a while,” he said to her. “Tyrion wants me to take you home.”

Sansa shook her head. “No. It’s fine, I can wait.”

Bronn laughed. “No other options, sweetheart.” He nodded to the car. “Time to go home and sleep.”

Sansa scoffed, wanting to go inside and yell at Tyrion for dragging her through all of this so far. She followed Bronn to the car, getting into the backseat. She looked back over her shoulder, at the jail as they drove off.

So close, she thought. So fucking close.

She turned back around, looking at her hands, all of her nails now chewed away nubs. She’d have to have Gita held give her a manicure.

Bronn chuckled. “You make me think of that old fairy tale.” Smoke came out of his nose as he spoke. “Beauty and the Beast.”

Sansa furrowed her brow at him and he laughed.

“No offense or anything intended. That’s just the picture I get.” He waved his hand at her. “The beautiful girl, could have the world, could have any man she batted her lashes at. But instead, she races off with the Beast.”

Sansa continued staring at him like he was an idiot.

“Nothing bad, nothing bad,” Bronn continued. “Just saying, you can’t judge by appearances what a person is like. You’d think Sandor was this…beast yes, like his brother.” He took another long drag. “But honestly? He’s a puppy compared to Gregor’s mountain troll.”

Sansa looked down.

“And you?” He chuckled. “Some daffy little redhead. But no. You’re quite strong, made of steel you are.” He nodded, smoke coming from his nose again. “You’d have to be to survive a day with that Lannister cunt.”

Sansa laughed. “Well…thanks I suppose.”

Bronn tossed down his cigarette out the window before pulling up in front of Sandor‘s place. Gita was coming down the stairs with Sweet Pea, going for a walk. She stopped and turned, heading towards the car.

“If you need anything, just call Tyrion.” Bronn told Sansa as she got out. “I’ll be here in half a tick.”

Sansa smiled to him. “Thank you, Bronn.”

Gita sighed, coming up to her and putting her arm protectively around her shoulder. “Everything ok, mermaid?”

Sansa nodded, wiping her eyes. “You walking Sweet Pea?”

Gita nodded. “I was going to pick up dinner.” She looked at Sansa, concerned. “is everything alright? Something happen?”

Sansa nodded, taking a breath. “Baelish woke up.”

“Oh?” Gita’s brows arched. “What’d he say?”

They began walking, Sansa taking Sweet Pea’s leash. She enjoyed feeling her tug and pull, reminded of her old dog from when she was little. 

“I don’t know anything yet.” Sansa continued, voice low and quiet. “All I know si that he’s awake and Tyrion is…doing something.”

“Have the police gotten his statement yet?” Gita asked.

Sansa shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Has Tyrion talked to him?”

She shrugged again. “Don’t know.”

“Assholes, the lot of em.” Gita sighed.

Sansa chuckled. “I should just go talk to him myself.”

“Why would you do that?” Gita rolled her eyes, smirking.

“Baelish was friends with my mother once.” Sansa answered, tugging on Sweet Pea’s leash as she began to wander. “So maybe he’ll listen to me.”

Gita shrugged. “I’d not waste my time on a man like that. I never cared for him. Never trusted him.”

Sansa looked up at her. “You knew him?”

Gita nodded. “Well yes, he’s worked for Gregor for a while now. Surpised this all hasn’t happened sooner.” She nodded to the butcher’s. “Be back out in a moment.”

Sansa sat down outside, Sweet Pea walking over and laying on her feet. She closed her eyes and prayed. 

Let this all just end soon.

 

That night she got a call from Tyrion. The hospital wasn’t allowing Baelish visitors at the moment. But since Tyrion had made himself Baelish’s emergency contact, he would be able to see him during visiting hours.

“What are you going to do?” Sansa asked.

“I’m going to tell him what’s going on.” Tyrion replied nonchalantly. “Make sure he knows his story.”

“Tyrion,” Sansa sighed.

“Oh don’t worry, I won’t do anything. Just make sure he understands that if he sinks both Cleganes he gains nothing.” 

“Is he alright?” Sansa asked.

“Who? Baelish?” He scoffed. 

“No…not him.”

Tyrion sighed. “I think Sandor is fine. Not sure. He’ll only let his lawyer see him.” He chuckled softly, reassuringly. “I take that as a good sign, don’t you?”

“I just miss him.” Sansa murmured.

“If you want to write him, and I make sure he gets the letters.” Tyrion replied. He sighed. “Another call, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Sansa hung up and she rolled onto her back, looking through the skylight. How much longer would she have to wait? Why was he being so fucking stubborn? What feelings what he sparing her by not allowing her to see him?

She closed her eyes. Write him a letter, huh? 

She got up, finding a pen and pad in her purse. She began writing, telling him about her day, about her new job as a dance instructor. She didn’t mentioned anything important, not how she missed him, not how she sometimes cried with worry. It was all fluff, all filler. Why worry the imprisoned man?

 

Tyrion never called her back the next day. Never told her how his conversation with Baelish went. She didn’t like that, didn’t like the message it sent. She knew Baelish was a snaky man, had heard stories from her mother about his inner workings. He was a self-centered man, a man of pure ambition and climbing. He was not in this world to help the little people.

She went to work, started her first class. A group of young girls between the ages of seven and nine. All of them adorable, all of them eager to learn and become ballerinas by the time they were ten.

It was nice to have this new job, nice to have the little girls around her, filling her head with their wonderful little dreams and ambitions. It helped make the time go by faster, make the world seem to spin faster. Sometimes she could even forget. 

She wrote letters to Sandor, telling him about the girls in her class, how much she loved being an instructor. 

“I sometimes forget my life before. My life in that cage dancing above the world. I thought that was what I wanted. That I wanted to be looked up to as something untouchable. But now I realize, I was to be looked up to as a goal, as something these little girls can dream to aim for and become. I don’t want to be intangible like I was. I want to be real. I want to be a role model and teach. And I have you to thank for that.”

It was the first time she had allowed her heart to come out in one of her letters to him. To let him know how much what his actions had meant to her.

She sealed the letter and would send it with Bronn in the morning when he stopped by to make his morning rounds.

 

Another month came and went. Sansa had tried not to think about, tried not to linger on the fact that his scent was leaving the couch. She had a day off and was having a hard time concentrating, so she decided to go on a run with Sweet Pea.

She put on her sweats and tied her hair back in a bun. Sweet Pea was bounding around like an idiot, scratching at the door and whooping and drooling excitedly. 

“Since when do you get excited for a walk?” Sansa chuckled, wiping up her jowls, or at least tried. Sweet Pea was bouncing too much to get a good wipe going.

She got her leash and attached it, and when the door opened, Sweet Pea all but dragged her down the stairs.

“Hey!” Sansa huffed. “Sweet Pea calm-” She stopped, staring ahead on the sidewalk. She felt empty and light, unsure how to feel.

There he was, waiting.

Sweet Pea easily slipped out of her grip and ran to Sandor, drooling all over him and whining. Her daddy was home and she was so excited.

He laughed, oh God she’d forgotten that laugh. He loved on Sweet Pea, greeting her warmly, taking her leash.

“You know better than to let her get away from you.” He walked up, putting the leash back into her hand. 

His touch. He was here.

Sansa looked up at him, mouth open.

He eyed her. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Sansa whimpered, throwing her arms around him, kissing him. She hit his head at first, tugged a little too hard on his lip and hit their teeth. But she didn’t care. He was locked in her arms, couldn’t escape. She kissed him how she wanted.

He pulled back a moment, brushing his fingers against her cheek, watching her, rememorizing her face. “God I missed you.”

She laughed out a whimper, bringing him back to a kiss.


	13. Sandor, Moving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’d not talked about the cabin again since then. It had seemed to bruise her ego somewhat. She had wondered if he had considered her at all in his decision process. Had he given it a second thought? A relationship? Or was he just that eager to escape his brother and all his bloody tracks that he’d forgotten?

He packed away his chisels in a special box, most of his carvings already sealed away and ready to be moved. The shop looked amazingly empty, save for the giant carved bear in the corner, he’d leave that there for Aisha or Gita, or Sansa if she wanted it. 

He locked the box and set it by the garage door. He sighed, half way done with packing. He thought about taking the washer and dryer, but he figured his new cabin would need smaller ones to take up less space. He’d leave most of everything, buy new things for a fresh start. 

With the Dog House and Dogwood sold he had enough money to get away like he’d always wanted. Away from the city. Away from his past. He could finally just be…away. 

He’d already bought the cabin, and he’d build a carving studio for himself. He already had several parties interested in his work. He even had a man interested in showing his things in a gallery. The man wanted his carved chain circle, but Sandor already had that promised away to someone else.

He was just glad to have the “family businesses” sold away. Baelish had bought Dogwood, God knows why. And Tyrion had bought The Dog House. He had already shut it down to begin remodeling it. He was planning on calling it the Lion’s Den, make it something more than the greasy dance club Gregor had turned it into. 

“I see something more like the brothels of Victorian New Orleans.” Tyrion had chuckled. “That’s all I want, a brothel really.” He teased, proud smirk crossing his face. “I’ll be able to produce most of my shows from here too. So I can be lazy if I choose.”

The stairs creaked and he looked up, she was coming down with a steaming up in each hand. Long, pale legs bare, he watched them as they stretched and relax with each step. His shirt she was wearing caressed against her hip. The bruises now gone and faded.

She looked at the packed boxes and sighed. “This why you left me alone this morning?” She extended a cup to him, pitch black brew like he liked.

He took the mug and drank, Kevlar tongue immune to the heat. “I just want it all done.” He grunted.

Sansa looked at her coffee then back up at him. “I guess you are excited to move.” Her voice a little sad and pouty.

He set his coffee down and picked her up by her waist, setting her down on his work bench. He eased between her legs and kissed her, pressing her against the wall. It still didn’t make sense to him that a girl like Sansa wanted him. But he didn’t mind taking full advantage of that want.

He long legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck. She was coiled all around him, hungrily meeting his kisses. She could loose herself in him, forget everything for a while and just taste and feel him. She had never expected to like a hairy man, but she discovered it was truly what she enjoyed. His beard, his chest, and his arms. She loved the feel of his pelt scrap against her and rub her deliciously.

The past few days a blur, either business, work, or bed for the both of them. Sansa worked at the studio, spending her days teaching little girls the basics of ballet and dance. Sandor had been working on selling off what he could of his brother’s assets.

He sold Gregor’s house, chasing out what riff-raff he could from it. Then Baelish, from his sickbed, bought the lumber yard and construction business, Dogwood. And almost immediately after Tyrion put up his offer for the Dog House. 

He figured they had plotted on that together while he was locked up. He didn’t care though, he was just happy to have it all out of his hands. He had allowed Baelish to buy it because it was his statement that had gotten him free. Otherwise, he wouldn’t of paid the rat a second thought.

He didn’t care much for Tyrion either, but the Imp had looked after and taken care of Sansa and the girls while he had been locked up. Sansa had nothing but good to say about him, so he took Tyrion bid on the club and never looked back.

In the evening when they both met back up they would barely leave each other’s sides. They cuddled and snuggled, eating together on the sofa, watching movies. 

Generally being one of those inseparable couples that normally turned his stomach. But Sansa had such a way about her, and their long absence on top of it, that all he wanted to was simply be with her. He could relax and let go, unwind from everything as soon as she wrapped her arms around him. 

From dancing all day, her feet and legs were sore. He’d massage them, making giggle and squeak and he teased her, tickling along her calf and the arch of her feet. Often times, this turned into them simply making out on the sofa, grunting and panting as the heat between them grew.

Inevitably, he’d make himself push away and then they’d make dinner. Sansa still wasn’t a reliable cook, she’d picked up a few tricks and tips from Gita, but he cooking was still that of a struggling college student.

“But you’re cooking is like…some wild man alone in the woods.” Sansa chuckled, sitting at the counter watching him.

He tossed her a roll fresh from the oven. “At least my squirrel is fur free and fully cooked.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I suppose it’s better than anything you had while you were gone.”

He laughed. “Only a stale crust of bread and tap water for me.” He joked at her.

She smiled sadly, picking at the roll. “Not much better though?”

He shook his head. “No. Not much better.” He then pointed at her and flicked her nose. “Enough about my time in hell,” he pulled the meatloaf from the oven and pulled their plates to him. “Lets just eat and forget.”

They took their meal to the living room, curled up on the sofa and watching bad television. 

“What do you plan on doing?” Sansa asked. “Now that you don’t have to live for Gregor?”

He huffed, chewing on his food and trying to ignore the question. “Well,” he swallowed and scratched at his temple. “I’ve bought a cabin I’ve been looking at for a while,” he answered.

Her eyes widened.

“I was thinking, once I’m moved out there, opening a carving studio.” He said with a nod. “Maybe teach. Sell my things. Take commissions.” He shrugged.

Sansa licked her lips. “H-how far out is it?”

“About two hours.”

Sansa looked down. “I see. Well I’m glad you found a place you like.”

They’d not talked about the cabin again since then. It had seemed to bruise her ego somewhat. She had wondered if he had considered her at all in his decision process. Had he given it a second thought? A relationship? Or was he just that eager to escape his brother and all his bloody tracks that he’d forgotten?

Sansa pulled away from his kisses and put his finger against his lips. “I’ll miss you.” She whimpered. 

He pulled back, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his keys. He placed them into her palm, closing her fingers around it. “You will always have a home here.” He told her, rubbing her knuckles. “I want you to have this place.”

She furrowed her brow, looking at him seriously. “What do you mean? I want to go with you.”

His face relaxed, no expression on it, save for the sparkle in his eyes. “You’d go with me?” He scoffed. “What about your new job?”

She shrugged. “I’m sure Shae would understand.” She looped arm arms back around his neck. “There are better instructors than I waiting in the wings anyways.” She fingers traced up his spine into his hair. “And besides,” she hesitated, looking at his lips and then into his puppy-dog eyes. “I love you.” She tipped her chin up, and pushed his head down, kissing him again, pressing her entire body into him.

Sandor moaned, pulling back and kissing her cheeks and the tip of her nose. “Are you sure that’s what you want? This cabin is in the middle of the woods.”

Sansa shrugged. “Sounds nice.”

He nodded, taking the keys back from her. “Then I’ll just pass this place off to Gita.” He sat the keys down on the work bench, pressing back close to Sansa.

She giggled, tightening her legs back around hid waist. “You’re hard.”

He clicked his teeth at the tip of her nose. “I’m always hard around you.” He grinned, teasing. “Look at the way you’re dressed. Just a t-shirt and panties. You’re doing it to fluster me.”

Sansa scoffed. “Oh never!” She slapped his cheek playfully. “I’m not wearing this for you.”

His hands were on his back. “No bra either.”

“You wear a bra all day then.” She snipped back.

His big hands were tangled in her hair. “Did you wash?” He asked, her roots a little damp.

She nodded. “I stank like your fop sweat.” She smirked.

He snarled at her, pinching her earlobe. “That’s mean, little bird.”

Sansa giggled, tugging his hair in reply. “I actually like your smell.” She purred into his ear, nipping his lobe. She traced her fingers down his jaw and neck. “I missed it.” She buried her face in his neck.

Sandor moaned softly. “I missed yours too.”

She lifted her head, looking into his eyes again. “So we’re moving?”

He nodded. “If you can stand me.”

She smiled, nodding. “I think I can manage.” She reached down, tugging open his pants. “Do you think you can manage me.”

He groaned, feeling her fingers slip around him, pulling him free. “I’ll see.”

Sansa giggled. “Then I think we’ll be ok.”

He gripped her hips, pulling her to the edge of the table. “Sure.”


End file.
